


learn to look at an empty sky

by lacecat



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, American Presidents, Background Relationships, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Revelations Through Exercise, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Flashbacks, House of Cards AU, Implied Sexual Content, Modern Era, Multi, Polyamory, President John Silver, Secret Relationship, Secret Service Agent Flint, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 05:11:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10869801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacecat/pseuds/lacecat
Summary: Silver turns back to the audience, his dark hair illuminated by the stage’s light, his profile made into sharp twists of shadows and light. He waits out the roaring noise until he can speak once more. James is transfixed by the sight.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> the semi-house of cards AU that no one asked for but yet, here I am with this  
> title from the more loving one by w. h. auden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to Hailey who is the best!!!!! she suffered with me through all sorts of angsty situations and helped me develop this hot mess ❤️❤️

NOW

 

James’s eyes flicker open, and he moves to turn off the clock before his alarm has the chance to go off. The morning light casts everything in shades of gray as it filters through the window. There’s a strange heavy quality to air, but it still doesn’t explain the pressure on his chest.

 

He gets up, methodically showering, eating, dressing, getting into his car. On the drive there, he keeps the radio off, driving in complete silence.

 

His movements are smooth, practiced, as he rolls down the window to show his badge. The man at the booth would recognize him, of course, but he knows that James is strict on such rules. The man nods at him, pressing the button so that James can drive through, and park his car.

 

James buttons his jacket once he gets out of the car, making sure his gun is holstered at his hip, wallet and keys secure his jacket pocket before walking inside. It’s not a travel day, his brain recalls from the schedule he’s long memorized for the day, so he drops off his jacket in one of the small lockers before sliding in his earpiece.

 

“Big day,” one of the agents- Dobbs, James’s mind supplies for him- says as he closes his locker across the room from James’s. “Wonder how the movers are doing.”

  


James doesn’t answer, instead busying himself with adjusting his holster. 

  


“It’s not like they had any warning, I mean,” the other man muses out loud. “Didn’t plan to be moving again so soon.” 

  


James vividly pictures slamming his fist into Dobbs’s jaw. He imagines scarlet blood arcing out of his gaping mouth, the thud of his knuckles against the crunch of bone. He can see himself hitting Dobbs again and again, slamming his head into the cold tile of the floor. Maybe he'd try to hit back. James would wish it so. 

  


He must be silent for too long contemplating the grisly image, for when another agent comes in, Dobbs takes one look at his face, and both he and the other agent soon leave without another word to him. 

 

James forces himself to unclench his grip on the locker before he can move. He’s nearly late to his meeting. On his way out, he catches sight of himself in the mirror. His face looks gaunt, and despite being clean-shaven, his hair cut short, the dark circles under his eyes seem to make them stand out. 

  
As Hennessey’s office, he knocks once, twice on the heavy door before opening it. It doesn’t make a single sound as it glides open, and he stands to attention when Hennessey, seated at his desk, briefly glances up at him.

 

“Agent,” the older man says, setting down a file and opening another. “Have a seat.” 

  
James enters and sits down in one of the tall-backed wooden chairs in front of the desk, but remains posed. “Good morning, sir.” 

  
Hennessey, as usual, is blessedly quick to get to the point of this meeting. “I’m assigning you to special detail for the First Lady,” Hennessey tells him, without looking up at the papers on his desk. “You’ll start today.” 

  
“Sir?” James asks, after a beat, to make sure he’s hearing him correctly. 

  
“You’ll be working with her existing detail for the next several months, but I don’t see why you can’t choose to phase some of them out after that.” Hennessey closes the file and reaches for the next in the large stack. “She’ll meet you after this.” 

  
He squares his shoulders. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, sir,” James says.

 

“That’s why it’s an order, agent,” Hennessey asks, finally setting down the papers and finally looking at him. Whatever he sees, it makes him frown slightly. “Why would you say that?” 

  


James keeps his voice level as he answers, the words rolling off his tongue easily. “I don’t have a relationship with the First Lady or her current detail. I’m not familiar with her schedule or her staff. There have to be other agents you could assign, perhaps ones more accustomed to the schedule-”

  
“James,” Hennessey snaps, and the use of his name makes James cut off. “You’re making excuses, for reasons I don’t know and I don’t care to find out. I believe you’re the best agent for the job, and that’s it.”

  
James wants to shout at him. Let his voice rattle the room enough so that other agents come running, so he can scream at them too. _Because she’s not supposed to be here. Because the people who came before them, who we all still expect to see, they’re the ones we all swore allegiance too and we’re pretending nothing happened._

  
He stays silent, though, helpless as Hennessey makes a dismissive gesture. “Sir,” James says, and he rises to leave. 

  
“You might find her in the east sitting hall,” Hennessey tells him just as he’s at the door, and if he were any other man, the corner of his mouth would have turned up. “I believe she’s turning it into a library.”

  


•••

 

Indeed, when James gets to the east sitting hall, there’s an odor of sawdust and the faint screeches, hums of the power drills at work. 

 

Agent Bonny is positioned at the door, tight stance not loosening even as James approaches. She’s one of the more competent agents that he’s ever worked with, he thinks to himself. He remembers standing next to her at the funeral. 

 

“Hennessey sent me,” James says, and isn’t surprised when Bonny just fixes him with a flat look in response.

  
She doesn’t say anything, so he takes the chance that she’s not going to attempt to pin him to the ground if he continues, and he opens the door beside her.

  
Inside, there are several men installing bookshelves on the far wall. James watches as they work, exchanging a nod with the agent stationed on the far wall. They’ve taken down most of the picture frames, portraits of various figures who have graced these halls. The change in tradition takes James off guard for a moment, and he watches as one of the workmen begins to wheel away a stack of frames, the dark gold edges glinting in the light as they move by him. 

  
“You must be the new agent assigned to watch me,” a polished voice comes from the other side of the room, and James turns in response. 

  
“Ma’am,” he says, with a note of apology. “Pardon me, I didn’t see you there.”

  
Madi Scott is as every bit collected and impressive as James recalls from the few news clips he’s seen over the past few weeks. She crosses the room, smartly dressed in a dark blue wool dress and her dark eyes flit over him for a moment. She takes her time crossing the room, and when she speaks, it’s with the kind of voice that makes people take notice. 

  
“You are Agent James Flint, correct?” the First Lady says, extending her hand.

  
He shakes it, and her grip is warm and smooth under his fingers. “Apologies, ma’am. I am. It’s an honor to meet you.” 

  
“Thank you,” Ms. Scott says, and she motions to the side in a long-practiced gesture. “Please, let us sit.” 

  
She directs him to one of the couches, which has been left uncovered by plastic, unlike most of the furniture in the room. James notices how without her giving a direct order, everyone in the room has filtered out, even her agent who closes the door behind him with a quiet thud. He awkwardly sits down on the couch.

  
Ms. Scott regards him for a long moment once she’s seated as well. James is reminded of looking up at the sun, feeling caught in the blinding light but craving the warmth on his face all the same. 

 

“I thought we should discuss my role in the next few months,” Ms. Scott says finally. “You worked under the previous administration, correct?”

 

James doesn’t move a single muscle. “Yes, ma’am.” 

  


“I plan to be on the road with my husband, working alongside him,” Ms. Scott continues, and her tone is brisk. “Not just in a capacity as First Lady, but as his political equal.”

  
James doesn’t answer. He knows from her tone that she isn’t finished speaking, and given his impression already of Madi Scott, he knows he would be wise to let her continue. 

  
“Does that unnerve you?” Ms. Scott asks bluntly. Although her face is purposefully casual, her eyes are still sharp, intent on cataloging every glimpse of a reaction. “I require that my staff, which includes you, respects my position in this administration, and adheres to the highest level of integrity and confidentiality. My husband and I work together, and if this is something you cannot understand or respect, I ask that you tell me so that we don’t waste each other’s time.” 

 

James realizes that the woman he’s seen on television is a mere shade of the woman in front of him now. He ruthlessly pushes any surprise away, though, keeping his expression straight. “No, ma’am,” he says. 

  
She studies him for another long moment, then the briefest hint of a smile on her face appears at whatever she must see. “Then please,” Ms. Scott says, “Call me Madi. Tell me, Agent Flint, are you much of a reader?”

  


•••

  
It’s in the same library when he meets him. 

  
Madi- James struggles with calling her by her given name at first, but when her gentle reminders turned into actual annoyance, he quickly learned- was sorting her books onto the new shelves, letting the room fall into an amicable silence. 

  
James has learned that she has a large personal collection that she fully intends to replace the existing books- all of which were rather bland outdated copies, so he doesn’t see it as a loss. The First Lady’s library contains both classics and more modern novels, overall an eclectic mix that certainly will cause some raised eyebrows. James has glanced over the titles while he stands guard, and given the small smile on Madi’s face, she had noticed as well. After a few days, she starts asking his opinions on which books to shelf right then.

  


“If I have to listen to another driveling fool today,” a familiar voice comes from the doorway, as Madi flips through a copy of _Giovanni’s Room_ , “I swear I’d throw myself right off the roof in this moment, and wouldn’t that be a tragic end.” 

 

“Your dramatics are too much, dear,” Madi says without turning. “James, pass me that box, please.” 

  
“ _James_ ,” President John Silver drawls. “The new detail.”

 

“Yes, sir,” James says, and he stands to attention after handing Madi the box, as the president walks more into the room. He lets the door slide shut behind him. 

 

“He’s been very helpful with the books,” Madi says absent-mindedly.

  
Silv her glances him up and down, and then turns to Madi. “You’ve had a talk with him?”

 

“He’s well aware of my role as your partner, yes,” Madi says, selecting another book out of the box without a look to her husband. “How did the meeting with your Chief of Staff go?”   


 

“She’s rather insidiously brilliant, I’ll admit,” Silver says, slumping onto the couch as he watches Madi work. “Plus, her appointment is absolutely horrifying as a concept to Hornigold, so I consider it a personal success.”   


 

He reaches into the side table, then, and opens the drawer to reveal a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Madi sends him a sideways look when he lights one. James watches out of the corner of his eye, the smoke pluming towards the ceiling in a lazy spiral. 

  


“And you,” Silver says, and it takes James a moment to realize that Silver is addressing him, as his eyes stay on Madi’s back. “What do you think about my new Chief of Staff?” 

 

“Sir?” James asks. The question catches him off guard, and he turns his head to look at the president’s profile. 

 

“Surely, you must have some thought,” Silver says, eyes still on Madi like he’s not paying attention to James. “I know she worked in the White House before we ever darkened its door. She’s quite a figure, by all accounts.”

  
“It’s not in my place to say, sir,” James replies evenly, professionally.

  
There’s a short pause, then Silver gives a short bark of laughter. “That’s what you all tell me. I wonder, did the old administration truly have you all so whipped as to not have your own tongues?” 

  
The words strike him low in his gut, and despite himself, James stiffens and he speaks again without thinking. “The old administration, sir, respected their colleagues.”

  
Madi’s hand freezes on a book. There’s a moment of absolute silence, and Silver turns to look at James directly. His eyes are far bluer than on screen, and when James doesn’t know what else to do than to look right back at him, he can see those blue eyes narrow.

  
“Is that so?” Silver says then, softly but no less dangerously, and the hairs on the back of James’s neck prickle despite himself.

 

He meets Silver’s gaze but doesn’t say anything else. The ghost of an expression flickers across Silver’s face, too quick to be read. 

 

Madi breaks the tension. “James, if I could have a moment with my husband,” she says, glancing at him.

 

James nods, moving away from the far wall to exit. He closes the door behind him quietly, stationing himself directly opposite the agent out there already. Neither can hear what the First Lady and the President are saying, but the low rumble of their voices are unmistakeable. 

 

He prepares himself for a letter in his mailbox tonight, telling him of his inevitable reassignment.  


 

•••

  


THEN

  


James listens to the radio when he drives to work in the morning. 

  
It’s usually the news station, since he’s never been that much into music, and the crisp voice of the host reading off the headlines is usually a welcome distraction against the honking cars outside. James doesn’t even focus on the actual words, instead just letting the sounds allow his mind to drift so off that once he actually starts his shift, he can be entirely focused on the task at hand. 

  
Once he arrives, parking his car and walking through the security clearances, everyone salutes him in some way. “Sir,” one of the younger agents says with a start, when she sees him round the corner. "Agent Flint." 

  
On the inside, James smiles. He remembers being that young, fresh and new on the job, desperate to please. So he gives a brief nod of his head in return, before continuing his trek down to the office. He passes by Dooley, who’s stationed at the end of the hallway, who just relieved Joji, before James sees Billy at the other end. 

  
Billy’s shoulders relax ever so slightly when he sees James there. He’s been there all night, not that anyone would be able to tell from his careful posture and his alert eyes. “Flint,” Billy says in greeting, flexing his shoulders. “He’s in there now.” 

  
James nods in return. “Thank you,” he says, taking Billy’s position against the wall. Billy leaves, and James crosses his arms in front of him. This part, the silent vigilance, makes many of the younger agents want to fidget. Perhaps it’s just his age, or the years he’s spent in the Navy teaching him absolute patience, but James doesn’t move a single muscle, other than the flick of his eyes carefully assessing, watching, looking. 

  
At eleven, there’s a meeting to go to, so James knocks on the thick wooden door once. “Mr. President, the senator will be here shortly,” he says. 

  
“Thank you, I’ll be out in a minute,” the faint voice replies, and the corner of James’s mouth quirks up as he takes his place once more. Down the hall, Dooley answers quietly on his radio, preparing them to move. 

  
The door opens nine minutes later, and Thomas steps out. He’s adjusting his tie as the door closes behind him, and James steps back so that he can move by. “I’m late, aren’t I,” Thomas says, sounding only slightly sheepish as he shrugs his suit jacket back on. His eyes, though warm, only glance over James for the briefest moment. 

  
“Senator Philpott only just arrived,” James says, as he trails Thomas down the hallway. Dooley falls in behind them, and James opens the door for them as they move through the building.

  
“That’s a diplomatic way of saying _Yes, Thomas, you’ve done it now_ ,” Thomas replies from the corner of his mouth, low enough for only James to hear. Then they’re walking into the meeting room, and the low rumbling of voices dies down as soon as the door opens.

  
“President Hamilton, sir,” the senator says, sounding just a little too loud, and he and everyone in the room rise up as soon as Thomas crosses the threshold. James and Dooley take their positions behind Thomas, on either side of the door, as the president crosses the room.

  
“Please, everyone, sit,” Thomas says with a warm smile, taking his seat at the head of the table, but James knows his eyes are sharp as they take in the people around him. “George, it’s been too long. I do hope you’re here to talk to me about that energy proposal you have been working on.”

  
Before long, Thomas is shaking the senator’s hand again, and then they depart. Dooley and James walk with the president to his lunch, then a meeting with the chief of staff, then another meeting with his senior advisors.

  
During that last meeting, James and Dooley are both relieved by two other agents so that they can eat and rest. Dooley goes home then, but James stays. Since he’s one of the senior agents assigned to the president’s detail, he debriefs some of the other agents who worked this week, before he too returns to the West Wing. 

  
It’s late when Thomas finally gets back, and he absentmindedly runs a hand through his hair as he goes through the door, caught up in another briefing file in his hand and making a vague assenting noise when James asks if he should have coffee sent in. 

 

The sun slips below the horizon outside, the light fading from where it was peeking out of the shutters in one of the offices across the corridor.  At about nine, James knocks on the door, and when Thomas answers, sounding somewhat distant, he lets himself in quietly. 

  
Both the lamps on the president’s desk are on, illuminating a thick stack of papers that are spilling over the edges. James watches, not hiding the fondness in his eyes when Thomas slumps a little more in his chair, leaning back as James approaches to stand in front of the desk. 

  


“I said I would have my appointment list ready by the start of next week. I fear as though that was a foolish promise,” Thomas says bleakly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He looks tired, more so than usual, or perhaps because when he’s around James, he lets some of that guard slip. 

  
“You are a true optimist, for better and for worse, sir,” James replies, feeling his chest warm when Thomas laughs, airy and unlike the controlled smile he puts on for the public.

  
“I missed that wit today,” Thomas tells him, rising. He’s already discarded his jacket, neatly hanging off the back of his chair, and his tie is slightly loose around his neck. “Miranda told me I’m not to distract you from your duties tonight.”

  
“That’s right,” James says, trying to sound serious even as Thomas approaches him. “I have a very important task, remaining vigilant-” Thomas’s finger hooks into his belt loops- “-protecting you, and making sure you can be every bit the grand optimistic, fighting the evils of the free world, all in absolute safety.” 

  
“I feel very safe with you looking after me,” Thomas says, enunciating with a small tug, and James lets himself be maneuvered into a kiss. Thomas’s lips are warm on his, their mouths sliding together sweetly.

  
Before he can get too lost in the feeling, though, James breaks away. “I didn’t come in here to distract you,” he points out, and Thomas’s eyes flit down to his mouth. 

 

 “I could use a break,” he says, and James lets out a small, amused exhale that he knows Thomas can feel on his face. 

  
“You could use this time to finish reading the candidate files,” James points out, and Thomas lets out a small sigh. 

  
“Will you stay in here, at least?” he asks, as James adjusts the collar of his shirt, adjusting the knot of his tie. Despite his words, he still lets his fingertips brush against the soft flesh of Thomas’s neck, and Thomas closes his eyes briefly at the touch. 

  
“Let me tell Eme,” James says, and Thomas’s thumb brushes James’s hip, sending a thrill even through the fabric of his shirt before they’re separating once more.

 

Although sometimes he imagines having Thomas all to himself for weeks on end, just the two of them tangled in sheets and each other, he knows that such things are strictly kept to daydreams after his shift. But he’s sated for now, by how he can watch Thomas for the next few hours until someone comes to relieve him. 

  
James remains vigilant standing at his post, even when Thomas points out that he can sit on one of the couches or the chair on the side. It’s just like how he would be outside in the hallway with Eme, only now he can study how Thomas’s hair glows pale gold in the lamplight, watch the small furrow in his brow develop, the movement of his jaw when he chews the back of his expensive pen. 

 

  


•••

 

Several days later, James was once again positioned outside of the Oval Office. Billy was on that shift today, and they spent the time in amicable silence. 

  


There was movement down the corridor, and James steps out just as Miranda Hamilton rounds the corner. She’s dressed in a simple dark green dress, the elegant cut showing off the soft pale skin of her collarbone, and James nods as she approaches. 

  


“Ma’am,” he says politely, and Miranda’s eyes crease into a fond smile for a moment before she turns to Billy. 

  


She doesn’t have to say anything; Billy turns and walks down the hallway, out of earshot, so that Miranda can turn back to James. 

   
“Where is your detail?” James asks, glancing down the hallway as if the agent in question is about to round the corner as well. 

  
“I told Agent Bonny that I was confident enough in the strength of the security system to go for a quick stroll in the building by myself,” Miranda replies easily, and now that they’re alone, James bends when she tilts her head up to meet for a quick kiss. She smells faintly of her citrus perfume, a scent that surrounds him into his dreams. 

 

“Especially once I told her that I was just going to visit you,” Miranda adds, and James frowns. 

  


“You didn’t,” he says, but Miranda’s face holds a glimmer of amusement. “Miranda!”

  


“I told her I was just visiting my husband,” Miranda reassures him, putting a hand on his chest lightly. “Speaking of which, is he in there?”

  
  
“He’s meeting with the Secretary of Commerce,” James says. “He should be done shortly, though. There’s time before his meeting with Ashe this afternoon.”

 

Miranda sighs. “That’s quite all right. I’ll just see him over dinner, I suppose.” She lets her fingers trail over the buttons on his shirt. “Would you come over tonight?”  


 

He would love nothing more, but he also knows just how suspicious the other agents are beginning to get that he’s been summoned to the presidential quarters late at night. James knows that Miranda can see the real regret on his face when he answers, but it doesn’t make the words hurt any less.

  


“I can’t, I’m assigned to show around some of the newer agents tonight.” James brings her hand up for a light kiss on her knuckles, though, and breathes in her perfume where she must have applied it to the inside of her wrist. _I’m sorry_ , he thinks, but he doesn’t say it out loud. 

  


Miranda smiles, and he can process a touch of sadness on her face before it slips away. “Of course. We’ll just have to miss you even more until next time,” she says. 

  


Miranda leans up for another too-brief, light kiss on his cheek, before she turns to walk back down the corridor, glancing back at James once more before turning the corner.  

  
He lets his eyes slide shut for a brief moment before forcing them open again, just as Billy comes back. He resolutely doesn’t look at James. 

  


•••

 

If someone had told James, perhaps back when he was young and in the Navy, that he would one day be in a secret relationship with the President of the United States, he would be too flabbergasted to even laugh.

  
But somehow, this is the situation he finds himself in. He doesn’t think that it’s even covered in the guide they give to new agents. Somehow, he doesn’t think Rule Forty-Seven: _Don’t sleep with the President, don’t fall in love with the President, and certainly do not sleep with and fall in love with both the President and the First Lady_ was ever suggested in an update. 

  
James had been assigned to the Secret Service detail following his discharge from the Navy. While he was learning the ropes, the entire country was fixed on the young, glamorous first couple. James had fully expected them to be another easy-smiled political duo, shallow as they were glittering in the limelight, and had gone into his assignment every bit the cynic. 

  
But Thomas and Miranda Hamilton were unlike anyone else he had ever met. 

  
Thomas was the first genuinely good person he had ever met- he actually _cared_. Thomas was honest, razor-sharp, and he possessed a sort of charisma that drew people towards him like moths to a flame. Miranda was the same, bright and mischievous and every bit the perfect partner to her husband, accepting her new role as First Lady with a sort of dignity and grace that set her apart as something truly special. They both grew fond of James, that was evident to anyone, and to the outside, he was their trusted, devoted bodyguard. 

  
Both of them had found a way to work through the cracks in his armor, slowly but surely, and soon he knew he would dedicate his life to making sure the world would forever have the gift that it had been bestowed with by the Hamiltons.

  
In the early days, the common rumors were that he was having an affair with Miranda. While there was some truth to that- James had fallen into bed with her one night, a natural progression coupled with bravery from a few glasses of wine on his part- it was no affair.  She loved him and he loved her, and what was more, Thomas knew and gave his approval. 

  
One night, Miranda had turned to him, the sheets pooling around her bare waist, and James had dragged his eyes up from the curve of her side enough to catch her words.

  
“You love him,” she says, and it’s not a question. 

  
He didn’t answer, not for a long while, but perhaps that was answer enough, he thinks, looking back to the memory with not a small amount of nostalgia.

  
James was helplessly in love with Thomas. The bright optimism that had gotten him elected was just one facet of many that he had fallen for- and who wouldn’t, knowing the quirks of his personality from spending so much time with him? The way that he bit his thumbnail when coming up with an opinion for a speech, the way he got frustrated tying a tie.

 

James had long accepted it to be unrequited, something to be somehow shoved into a box despite the fact whenever he was in the same room with Thomas, warmth seemed to overflow through his ribs, but then it _wasn’t_. 

  
James had been the one to make the first move. Thomas had pressed a copy of an old book he suspected James would like, early one morning when it was just them, Miranda out giving a speech at the local women’s center. The sun was shining outside, and the rays coming in through the window highlighted both the motes of dust and the hairs on Thomas’s arms, as he held out a book for James. 

 

 Only James’s small finger caught Thomas’s gently as he took the book, and their hands had dragged against each other slowly, cautiously. Thomas watched him steadily, letting him make the decision, to fall into whatever had been blooming between them. 

 

Time seemed to suspend as James slowly lifted their hands, pressing a kiss to the inside of Thomas’s wrist, and then Thomas was bringing his hand up to James’s jaw. They were finally kissing, a natural progression to their story. 

  
He felt as though his heart was caught on a taut wire, balancing precariously on its edge where it could fall into something unknown on either side. Only Thomas had caught his heart, and James had given it to him easily and without reservation.

 

•••

 

The fact that the man that James fell in love with was also the leader of the free world was a terrifying reality. From the moment he had been sworn into office, Thomas Hamilton had shocked many by his proposals for the next four years, his plans the methods he believed would shape the country to provide a better future for all. Some of those plans, then, meant that he had enemies that would stop at nothing to prevent him from uprooting the system he’d been elected to the head of.

 

James had known about these threats, of course. If it affected him in a way he could not control, it would only be making him better at his job, he reasoned. He was not compromised in his duty, even as they were forced to keep their relationship private, lest the scandal prevent Thomas from any of his plans.

 

The need for secrecy was difficult for Thomas especially: bright, hopeful Thomas, who dreamed of a better day than yesterday. James knew the necessary sacrifice and would have paid it ten times over, but Thomas, he knew, didn’t want that. 

 

Soon after they had crossed that particular bridge in their relationship, Thomas had given him a photo. It was of a small cottage located off the coast of Maine, that Thomas had kept for many years, the dark gray and blue ocean in the background a stark contrast to the sun-bleached color of the shingles. It looked peaceful, James thought. 

 

He had pressed it into James’s hand one night when only the moon outside lit their silhouettes in the darkness. James moved to flick on a light to see it better, but Thomas’s hand slung lazily over his torso had stopped him.

 

“It’s where I imagine I am when everything seems too much to handle,” he whispers into the nape of James’s neck, curling up behind him. “I think of how the ocean breeze lifts right through the house, making the air heavy with salt and sun.”

 

“It’s where I picture going after this, Miranda and I, and for you too, if you’d like,” Thomas finishes, his warm breath lighting James’s insides up like a warm glow.

 

James turns his head, capturing Thomas’s lips with his own in response. He squeezes his eyes shut so that Thomas can’t see the tears forming there, though his thumb rises anyways to swipe at the dampness underneath James’s eyes anyways. 

 

Miranda comes in later, and she sees the photograph, still in James’s hand as Thomas lies asleep on the other side. James is still awake, watching her softly as she creeps underneath the sheets before letting him pillow his head on her soft stomach.

 

“He’s carried around that photograph for years,” Miranda tells him quietly, fingers lightly dragging through James’s hair.

 

He’s lulled to sleep with Miranda rubbing soothing circles on his scalp, Thomas’s arm a welcome weight over his torso. Both of them grounding him to this bed, to them, in this moment.

 

If only he knew then, he might have stayed awake to better commit such moments to memory.  


 

•••

 

It’s around two in the morning when his work phone rings.

 

  
He’s jolting upright and answering the phone perhaps before even fully waking up. “Flint,” he answers, attempting to keep the sleep out of his voice. 

  


He listens to Hennessey, and at first, he can’t comprehend the words. He lets it barely filter into his brain. 

  


_An accident_. 

  


“Yes sir,” James says after a long pause. “I’ll be there as soon as possible.” 

  


He hangs up the phone. 

  


James stares at the device for a long moment, then his fingers curl around the metal. He can smell citrus, heady and sweet, and thinks about the crinkles around Thomas’s eyes.

  


_Breathe in, breathe out._

  


He throws the phone against the wall. 

  


•••

  


The day of the funeral, the sky is overcast but yet there’s not one drop of rain. James watches the clouds drift overhead, hanging ominously over all their heads but refusing to burst in some defiant gesture. 

  


In the cemetery, there’s a musty smell to the air as they proceed down the long road, hearses and people and mourners all lining both sides of the funeral procession. He walks behind the cars, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. There’s a hushed silence when the long black car at the front finally stops when the side doors open.  

  


From here, James can make out Thomas’s pale hair, but he can’t see the expression on the other man’s face from this distance. James wonders if there are deep lines under his eyes, marring the haunted expression, just like the one he’s seen glimpses of in the mirror.

  


He wonders who helped Thomas with his tie this morning. 

  


One of the agents helps Thomas into a wheelchair, then pushing him down the path they had put in just for this purpose. The wheels catch on the tiny pieces of gravel, spitting them out and disappearing into the neatly cut grass to either side.

  


Throughout the service, James doesn’t listen to what they say about Miranda. Thomas himself doesn’t speak, just sits and looks numbly on as they talk about her charity work, the galas she’d host every year to support the local women’s shelter, how much she loved her husband.

  


 It’s the last part that makes tears threaten to spill from James’s eyes, the first time he’s cried since he’d rushed to the hospital. Bile rises in his throat as he looks around, blinking his eyes quickly, at the politicians and figures that have all gathered here.

  


_None of these bastards would know the first thing about that sort of love. None of them deserve to be here while she_ -

  


_While she-_

  


_Miranda._

  


James watches from the side, watches Thomas instead of the closed casket at the front. Thomas’s hands are curled over the arm rests, and from a distance, he looks every bit the dignified, statuesque figure. But when they wheel him back down the aisle, James can see the stark white of his clenched knuckles, skin pulled too tightly over bone like every motion would rub his flesh raw. 

  


Thomas’s eyes flit up to meet his suddenly, and James’s mouth opens slightly despite trying to keep his composure. Thomas begins to lift his hand, perhaps to signal to the agent to pause, and James gives a very minute shake of his head. Not here. They can’t. 

  
Thomas’s hand pauses, then slowly goes back down. The agent doesn’t stop, and James forces himself to tear his eyes away from Thomas as they go by. He can feel Thomas’s gaze on him, but when he looks up again, they’ve already passed, and then he’s gone. 

 

•••

 

He’s halfway through a bottle of whiskey when there’s a knock at the door.

 

James thinks it might be Hennessey, perhaps come to check up on him again. He’d given James the next two months off when he had seen James come in this morning- taken one look at the red in his eyes, the new lines on his face, and had told him to take a long-deserved vacation. 

 

He probably shouldn’t have given James that sort of lenience- the entire capital is reeling still, suddenly thrown into another election as the president stepped down this morning, and they will need every agent possible on duty- but it wasn’t like James was in any suitable condition. 

 

James had dropped to his knees the moment he had stepped back into the apartment, crawling only to get to the bottle. 

 

In his grief-fueled, alcoholic slump, James wonders if he imagined the sound at first. Then there’s another, firmer knock, and he lifts his head off the coffee table just enough to slur, “Go away!”

 

“James, please,” and James recognizes that voice, and his stomach turns. It’s not coming from outside the door, but rather from the other side of the room. 

 

Miranda sits perched on the end of his chair, her hair in a dark knot at the base of her neck. She’s wearing that dark green dress he remembers her in, what she might have worn at the funeral if there could have been an open casket. “It’s been days,” she says quietly, watching him from across the room, her face pale and drawn. 

 

“I can’t,” he tells her desperately. “I can’t see him, I can’t.” There’s another knock, but he doesn’t even bother answering now. “I can’t.” 

 

“You’re killing yourself,” Miranda says sadly. “You need him, and he needs-”

 

“What he needs,” James says then suddenly, and he fixes his gaze on the peeling label of the bottle because it hurts too much to think about her, let alone look at her, “is for him to forget about me. I let you die, I can’t let him forgive me because it would kill him inside.”

 

“Don’t you think he gets to make that choice?” Miranda says then. “You haven’t even talked to him.”

 

“I’m just going to get him killed too,” James mumbles, feeling light-headed and dizzy. “God, _Miranda_ \- I miss you.”

 

But when he picks up his head, she’s gone, and he’s alone in the dark apartment. 

 

No one knocks on his apartment after that.

 

•••


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which words are exchanged, and I toss in some macbeth because why not
> 
> up next: the start of the BANTER, and airplane adventures
> 
> (i'm jamesbarlow on tumblr, say hi! :) )

•••

He doesn’t get fired. 

 

James comes into work the next day, prepares himself for the shift, and heads over to the West Wing. Madi is coming out of the Oval Office, and he relieves her bodyguard after a few short words. She doesn’t say anything to him at first, busy with papers in her hands, and he trails behind her into a study she has designated as her office.

 

“Agent Flint,” she says from in front of him, “I expect that you want to go over the itinerary for the trip.”

 

The First Lady and President Silver are going on a month-long diplomacy trip in several days to various countries, meeting with various leaders and officials as part of his welcome into the office. It’s been making the agents work harder than ever- international travel is a _bitch_ to assign- but James doesn’t mind it. The long hours, if anything, keep him busy. 

 

James does have those intentions in mind, but first, he glances back to where he came from, then speeds up slightly to walk besides the First Lady.  


  
“Ma’am,” he begins, and Madi tilts her head up from the papers to look at him, “I apologize for being curt yesterday.”

 

Madi folds the papers in her hands, pausing. The other agent stops, and after she glances at him, he continues to the end of the hallway, leaving them alone. 

 

“One of the things I love about my husband, Agent Flint,” Madi says, “is that he never apologies. Not to his constituents back in Ohio, not to Congress, not even to me.” 

 

She turns to look at him fully then. “I don’t accept your apology. There’s nothing to forgive,” Madi says, and then she begins to walk away.

 

James watches her, but his feet move without his bidding. “Ma’am?”

 

“My husband is a stubborn man,” Madi continues, as he follows her, “He is unused to having those challenge him. It’s a strength and a flaw, and he needs people to challenge him. It’s one of the reasons he married me.” She casts a look at him then, then says, “I’m sure you’ll understand.”

 

James doesn’t know how to respond to that, let alone if he should dare to.

 

•••

 

The First Lady works as hard as her husband does.

 

While Silver travels the country, she’s at work in the White House, and James follows her all over the building, talking to Max- the Chief of Staff- several times a day. Her office door practically revolves all day, and James watches senators, ambassadors, all sorts of people seek her advice. Beyond having Silver’s ear- since it’s no secret how much he respects his wife’s opinion and word- Madi Scott is a formidable opponent without even having to step foot in the capitol building, and they all know it.

 

He’ll admit that he’s surprised at the breadth of her knowledge of politics, being silently present at most of her meetings with those various legislators. Compared to the president, what she lacks in utter charisma, she makes up in an excellent poker face, and the uncanny ability to make everyone think she’s on their side until she rears around again.

 

Now, James has witnessed firsthand the cool facade that she puts on in front of others. She’s let him see her face- the annoyance, the frustration, the grim understanding, the pride- behind any mask, or perhaps it’s just another cover for him, masking her true self. 

 

It’s a late night, and James has a few hours to go on his shift. Madi is typing at her computer, pausing occasionally to wipe underneath her eye. Her aide has delivered coffee to her twice already, and her mug is already empty on the table. 

 

James rises, eventually, and Madi doesn’t look at him as he crosses the room to retrieve the mug. He fills it with water from the pitcher on the side table and brings it back to her. 

 

Madi blinks at the cup when it’s set in front of her. “Thank you,” she says, and James nods.

 

“Late night, ma’am.” He means it in sympathy, but instead, Madi looks into the cup for a long moment, then looks up at him like she’s still contemplating her reflection in the water.

 

“This fiscal proposal,” Madi starts, “It’s going to be among the first that my husband will propose, what will shape the country’s impression of him. We are creating our legacy in every word of this document, in this speech he will give this weekend.”

  
“The country elected your husband, ma’am,” James says when it’s clear she’s waiting for an answer. “If those words reflect what he portrays, it will bode well for his impression.”

  
“You think he puts on a show,” Madi says, and she’s pushing her computer aside to fix him with another piercing look. “You think that he is not what he portrays?”

 

James thinks to himself that he’s only met one honest politician in his life, and John Silver- nor Madi- is any different in that regard.

 

“That’s not what I intended, ma’am,” James says to try to avoid his mistake from last time. He’s mulling over what to say, avoiding digging himself into a deeper hole, when the door opens behind them. 

 

“I’ve been reminded why I hate Florida,” Silver says as he steps into the room. He stops when he sees James in front of Madi’s desk. “Agent Flint.” 

 

The door behind him swings behind him, but just before it closes, Flint can see the president’s detail file to either side of the door outside as Silver talks several steps into the room. 

 

“Sir,” James says in return, as polite as he can manage while stepping away back to the side of the room. 

 

“I didn’t expect you back for a few more hours,” Madi says, the first real smile James has seen on her face for days now spreading across it. “Welcome back.” 

 

She stands to walk around the desk, pressing a kiss to Silver’s mouth, but Silver’s eyes are still fixed on James. 

 

“We were discussing your legacy,” Madi tells him, and Silver breaks eye contact with James for a moment to look down to his wife. 

  
  
“Light conversation for the evening, then,” Silver says with a wry twist to his mouth. He’s handsome even though there are dark circles under his eyes, his pale eyes seeming to glow even in the low light. “I’m barely a month in my term, _dear,_ don’t you think it’s early to be measuring my legacy.”

 

“Your legacy is being built with every breath you take in this building. Which is why we’re going to make this speech something to remember,” Madi replies. 

 

“I see,’ Silver says. “The agent was decent enough to hear you through, is it, give you his thoughts?” There’s something ugly in his tone, something that raises James’s hackles despite trying to remain invisible in the room. 

 

“I’ve just gone over it now, and I have some thoughts on the conclusion,” Madi continues, not without a glare to her husband. 

 

“I wonder,” Silver continues anyways, “Does he have thoughts on my legacy? Or is there another reason why he’s lurking in the corner of the room each time I seem to go by.”

 

James doesn’t stiffen, but he remains rigid in place, looking at the far wall, resolutely not answering. He wonders if he should leave, or if any movement now would only be like running from a wolf. 

 

“John,” Madi says sharply. “Agent Flint is doing his job.”

 

“Leave us,” Silver says, staring at Madi, and James has never been more willing to obey an order in all of his years. 

 

Agent Bonny is out front, as is Billy. They both look at him with matching raised eyebrows as he exits the room. 

 

“The president didn’t seem to appreciate your presence in there,” Billy says after a long moment, “With his wife. The First Lady, mind you.” 

 

“What is it that you are implying, Billy?” James says with an edge to his tone. But before he can even take a step towards the other agent, Bonny speaks up. 

 

“Billy isn’t trying to pick a fight,” she says, her voice gruff. “And you know that Flint’s just doing his job. Both of you, back down.” 

 

Billy looks at the two of them for a moment longer, before he takes a step away to pace down the hall. James looks at Bonny then, who raises an eyebrow. “Don’t look at me,” she says with only some bite, and James takes his place across the hall from her in response.

 

•••

 

When he’s summoned to the Oval Office the next morning, he’s not sure what to expect. He stops just outside the door, making sure his expression is absolutely flat before lightly knocking on the door and opening it a crack.

 

The president is alone in the office, and Silver looks up at James’ arrival. “Agent Flint.” 

 

James enters, coming to stand in front of the desk and folding his arms behind his back. “Mr. President,” he says, and watches as Silver pushes away his papers on his desk, leaning back. He looks at ease in the chair, even when he’s reclining, but there’s a tautness to his shoulders that stands in contrast. James is reminded of a Roman sculpture, all concentration, careful posturing and cold marble. 

 

“As you surely know, the First Lady and I will be starting our trip tomorrow,” Silver says, after a long, considering silence. “I assume that you will be on Air Force One.” 

 

“Yes, sir,” James says. “If you would like Hennessey to send you more details on the security for your travel arrangements, I’m sure he’d oblige-” 

 

“I didn’t ask you in here to talk about travel arrangements,” Silver cuts him off. “I asked for you specifically.”

 

“Sir,” James repeats when Silver just looks at him. He waits, instead, flicking his eyes to the wood detailing on the front of the desk, rather than look back into the other man’s eyes. 

 

“You don’t like me,” Silver says finally, and those words catch James off guard. “That’s all right. You wouldn’t be the first, after all, but you are among a rare group regardless.”

 

He shifts somewhat in his seat as if weighing the words on his tongue. “Do you know how I got to this desk? I saw an opportunity, and I took it. I made the decision a long time ago to not take anything for granted in this life, to grasp onto anything and everything that I could use to propel myself upwards to where I am now. The people I surround myself with, the words I say, they’re all part of what I have crafted here.”

 

“I know you worked under the previous administration closely,” Silver says then, and James stills. “Despite what you might think, I know how to spot a commodity when I see it. You, I believe, are one of those, and that’s why we should have this conversation.”

 

The word burns at James, and he can’t help but argue, “Sir, there are other agents who worked under the previous administration. Manderly and Bonny are both on the Service detail, both of whom can assist you-”

 

“But none of your expertise,” Silver tells him. “It’s why I allowed you to be assigned to my wife’s detail. I love that woman more than sharks love blood, Agent Flint, and I would burn down this office before let someone _incompetent_ get that close to her, to risk her in that way when there are targets on both of our backs.” 

 

“The agents in your service have all undertaken an oath to protect you and the First Lady at all costs,” James says firmly. “We do not allow for incompetent agents, sir-” 

 

“The previous First Lady was killed in a suspicious car accident two days before her husband was to propose a controversial bill,” Silver interrupts. “One that would put many high-ranking officials under close scrutiny.” 

 

James can feel when he briefly loses his composure, the edges of his vision blurring as the other man presses on, “President Hamilton himself was badly injured enough to force his resignation, conveniently not even made a dead martyr for his cause despite his loss. The timing of the removal of the highest figure in this goddamn country and in such a convenient manner add up to a situation, in which surely even you can see how it might concern-”

 

“Stop,” James says suddenly, the words spilling out of him, and Silver’s eyes narrow. He steels himself, taking a deep breath in through clenched teeth. “I cannot allow you to speak like that, sir.” 

 

Silver regards him then with the sort of lazy, dangerous look in his eyes that’s like a cat eyeballing a loose string. “Out of pride, Agent Flint, or have I hit a nerve?”

  
“Both,” James snaps despite himself. “If that’s all-”

 

“I’m the head fucking head of the free world,” Silver says then, rising out of his seat. His suit jacket, discarded on the back of his chair, falls to the ground as he pushes back, but he pays it no mind as he moves around the desk. James is out of his seat before he knows it as well, folding his arms behind his back as Silver comes up to him. Despite the fact he’s shorter than James, his eyes command attention, as he gets close enough so that James can feel the breath on his face, forcing him to look down to meet his eye. “I haven’t dismissed you, _agent_.”

 

“With all due respect, sir,” James says coolly, “My duty is to protect your wife, not become your spy.”

 

“You have a duty to obey my orders,” Silver counters, and his eyes are startlingly blue. He takes a step even closer to James, who remains still. “You have a duty to tell me of what threats I have to face, that none of the other treacherous fucks who work for me would dare say to my face.” He looks down then, and then back up to meet James’s eye with a sort of smirk on his face. “You might hate me, but you don’t fear me, do you?” 

 

James’s lip curls before he can help himself. Silver sneers at him. “Come on, don’t tell me propriety has worked its hands around your throat-”

 

“I don’t fear you, because I have been here long enough to know that you are far from being the only snake around here, _sir,”_ James bites out. “What’s more, I will not cower from snakes, especially ones who are sitting in a chair that _does not belong to him_.” 

 

There’s a long, tense moment where he can only hear his heartbeat thudding in his ears, then a quick inhale from Silver. From this close, he can see how Silver’s pupils are dilated, perhaps from backing him into this corner yet still not expecting the bite in return. 

 

“Just when I think I’ve seen it all,” Silver says softly, and the small laugh blows cool air on James’s face. James clenches his fists at his side, forcing himself not to move a single muscle. He can feel the heat radiating from the other man’s body from this distance, like he’s swallowed a sun and the light is starting to spill out from behind his eyes.

 

“That’s why you’re the sort of person Madi and I need,” Silver says abruptly, and he takes a step back. He looks less wild, more restrained, as he casts his gaze to the bookshelves behind them, books that Madi has curated. “I’m not asking for a spy. God knows there are enough of those in here.”

 

James frowns, but doesn’t say anything, Silver continues, “I’m looking for a rock. Someone who will be present, but will absorb nothing. Do you think that role fits you?”

 

The implication is clear. Inside, some not too small part of him is screaming to walk out the door now- he knows that at this moment, Silver would let him. He would have to, and James would walk straight out of the building, back to his dingy apartment, back to the cool slide of a glass bottle in his hand. 

 

But the other part of him, the one that’s dormant, numbed ever since that phone call he received those months ago- the one that’s just been reignited, like he’s come out from being trapped underground during a long winter- makes him say, “I do, sir.”

 

“Good,” Silver says, and he reaches down to adjust the cufflinks on his jacket. He smirks, then, and it’s reminiscent of the smile that had gotten him elected, bright on every American’s television screen, but there’s nearly a reserved quality that is far more intoxicating. “I’ve promised dinner with my wife tonight. She’ll be glad to know neither of us put each other through the bookshelves.”

 

•••

 

“Anyone running for office wouldn't dare utter those words,” John Silver says, and there’s a hush in the room as everyone watches him. His eyes glitter as he takes them all in, as he adjusts his immaculate suit ever so slightly. From behind the First Lady’s seat, James shifts ever so slightly, watches as Silver pulls them all in. 

  
“Every advisor and consultant and staff member would beg a president not to say them. But I can say them,” the president continues, looking like something otherworldly. a man possessed, his eyes bright when the clapping grows in volume. He lifts his hands off the podium, capturing the room easily.

 

A memory blooms in his mind- a passage, James recalls as something he had listened to in Thomas’s low, warm voice late at night, when they were pressed up together beneath the sheets, Thomas’s glasses slung low on his nose. 

 

_“For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires; let not light see my black and deep desires.” Thomas reads._

 

_Something curls low in James’ gut as he watches him, only half-paying attention to the words, running his finger down Thomas’s arm just to watch the goosebumps form there._

 

_“The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be, which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.”_

 

“But I'd rather leave this office having accomplished something of value.” Silver pauses, and the room holds its breath. In front of him, Madi leans forward, eyes on her husband. 

 

James thinks of the photo of the cottage, long locked away in a faraway box, one thing that cannot be a physical reminder of his loss.  


 

“We will reinvent the American dream!” Silver proclaims, and he’s cut off by the deafening cheering, rising in swells as great as the ocean slamming against a hull in the middle of a storm. 

  
From below, Silver looks up from the podium, perhaps to look at Madi, but then his eyes slide up more.  

 

Their eyes meet for the briefest moment, and James is nearly convinced that he can see a smirk start to curl around the edges of Silver’s mouth.

 

Then Silver turns back to the audience, his dark hair illuminated by the stage’s light, his profile made into sharp twists of shadows and light, and he waits out the roaring noise until he can speak once more. 

  



	3. Chapter 3

 

NOW 

  
After doing his routine security checks, James boards the plane, small suitcase in hand. Madi is already seated in one of the pale leather seats, Anne Bonny seated a few rows behind her. The red haired agent gives a quick glance at James as soon as he enters the doorway, before she continues looking out the window onto the tarmac, her eyes sharp and searching even though he’s technically there to relieve her. 

 

Madi lifts her eyes and gives James a smile when he enters. She looks remarkably put together in a gray tailored dress and heels, considering how early they are leaving D.C. Outside, the early morning air is too muggy, the scent of morning rain hanging in the atmosphere, but inside, the plane’s air is dry and cool.

 

James slides his bag into the overhead compartment, notes the bags already there that belong to the First Lady. He sits in a seat across the plane’s aisle, in the same section as Bonny. He would be surprised to see Madi early, already on the plane, but in the few weeks he’s grown accustomed to the First Lady, he realizes she, unlike her husband, is refreshingly punctual. 

 

“He’ll be here shortly,” Madi says after a moment, eyes not leaving the papers in front of her. James hadn’t asked, but his eyes dart to the entrance to the plane before going back to the First Lady. The corner of Madi’s mouth twitches up, but she remains still while she reads, and James keeps his eyes forward. 

 

Eventually, there are muffled voices, then footsteps as the president boards Air Force One. He’s followed by several people, including the other agents on his detail, some of his aides, and his chief of staff. 

 

James stands, as does Bonny, as Silver walks down the aisle. He leans down to press a short kiss to the corner of Madi’s mouth as he undoes his cufflinks. The other people get situated on the plane, but James, as always, only watches the president and First Lady. 

 

“Ready for frog legs, darling?” Silver says, already shrugging off his suit jacket. He tosses it onto the seat across from Madi, grimacing as he loosens his tie as well.

 

Madi lift her eyes up to the decorated ceiling of the plane, as an aide rushes forward to take the president’s discarded jacket, folding it neatly and putting it on one of the empty seats.

 

Silver catches James’s eye, then, and he quirks a dark eyebrow, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Max, are we going to have frog legs?"

 

“You’ve seen the menu they have prepared for your visit. You know there will be no frog legs,” the Chief of Staff says, her accented voice already full of exasperation as she moves her bag to one of the compartments. “Ms. Scott, your husband seems unable to grasp the concept of- what I will call _cultural sensitivity_. He wanted to bring the French president one of those boxed wines as a gift.”

 

“It’s a testament to this great nation that we make decent zinfandel in cardboard,” Silver says agreeably, as Max visibly shudders. “Agent Flint, you haven’t commandeered this plane?” 

 

“Sir?” James asks. Silver props his feet up on the seat opposite of him and Madi, letting his tie- one that no doubt costs as much as a month of James’s salary- drop onto the carpeted floor. No one dares move to pick it up.

 

“I would presume that the agency has already vetted the pilot, but does he stand up to your discerning eye? Perhaps you’ve found some fault in his landing maneuvers, and so you’ve decided to take matters into your own hands for our voyage to the city of light.” 

 

“He’s teasing,” Madi says, both fond and exasperated as Silver’s elbow bumps into hers. “Dear, we’ll be on this flight for eight hours. Do at least try to be quiet.”

“Eight hours,” Silver says, then drawls to his chief of staff, “Tell me there’s some _paperwork_ to get done in that time.”

 

Max barely looks up from her phone. “Mr. President, Frederick is on this plane to help you finish your address for tomorrow evening. I am on this plane to make you do your paperwork, as you say.” 

 

“I thought you’d be happier to be returning to your homeland,” Silver says, glancing out the window then. They close the plane door, and the engine begins to rumble underneath their feet. “Marseille?” 

 

“For a time, yes,” Max says, her mouth tightening for just a moment in either annoyance or amusement. “Your office, then?” 

 

Silver stands up, and people who had been milling on the plane up until now stand to attention. “Off we go,” he says and has the audacity to wink at James as he walks by. His fingers graze the armrest that James’s arm is on.

 

James leans back slightly in the seat, still keeping Madi in the corner of his eye. But when he looks over, the back of his neck prickling, Max is looking directly at him. He drops his head in a brief nod, but her gaze doesn’t waver.

 

Max’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, as though she is piecing something together that not even James knows the result of, before she finally turns to enter the office as well. 

 

The door behind them closes with a resounding click.

 

 

•••

 

 

“Agent Bonny,” Madi says about an hour into the flight, “Might I have a private word with Agent Flint?”

 

The red-haired agent’s eyes flick from James back to the First Lady, but she rises from her seat anyways, going to the other end of the plane. Then it’s just Madi and James in that compartment, and Madi crosses her legs neatly in front of her. 

 

James sits up fully. “Ma’am?”

 

Madi nods to the seat opposite of the makeshift desk. “Please.”

 

While James gets up to sit across from her, Madi starts, “I would guess that my husband was unable to express the extent of his antagonism towards you. Antagonism, however, that has been soothed by your conversation yesterday.”

 

“There is no antagonism between us,” James says automatically, but then he relents under her flat stare. “We did discuss my role in your administration.”

 

“And?” Madi prompts.

 

James settles for frankness. “I fear he has misunderstood the nature of our relationship, ma’am.”

 

“Our relationship?” Madi’s eyes glitter, but in amusement in a way that’s not unlike her husband. “Do clarify, Agent Flint.”

 

“He believes we are... intimate,” James says, forcing himself not to swallow. “I apologize for any of my actions that he might have interpreted as such.”

 

“Agent Flint, you are an intelligent man,” Madi says, eyes studying on him. “Do you honestly think that such a thing would be the source of his ire?”

 

James studies her. “No, ma’am,” he says, and he’s surprised that as he says it, he realizes that his first assumption was incorrect. “It would make the most sense. But I believe the president to have a deep mistrust of the people around him, including myself.”

 

Madi gives a half-smile. “Do you blame him?” she says, leaning back. “But there is something else.”

 

“He asked if I could be a rock,” James says after a long moment. “To absorb nothing. I understand why he would want the least number of eyes watching him, but he is the president. It’s not the job one would want to take to work behind the scenes.”

 

“John is not the sort to stay behind another man,” Madi says. “I do believe you are entitled to an answer to your question, though.” She casts her eyes into the direction of the door. “They will be done shortly.”

 

True to her word, the door opens, and Max and the other staffers file out. Silver stays in the office though, and the door swings shut, blocking him from view. 

 

Across the aisle, Madi rises, and she nods to James. His hands tighten slightly on the arms of the seat before he gets up too, and he holds the door open for the First Lady before they both enter the office. 

 

Silver has unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt since the last time they’d seen him, and he runs a hand through the hair. The dark curls are now looser, slipping out of the bun at the base of his neck, and he runs a hand over his jaw, tossing aside a paper. 

 

“I would’ve thought Hornigold would’ve been the worst of my problems,” Silver says darkly, “But now his attack dog is giving me grief.”

 

“Dufresne?” Madi asks, taking a seat across from him, and Silver passes her a dossier from the top of his desk. Their movements are natural, instinctive around each other, and James has to swallow a sudden lump in his throat on the memory it dredges up. 

 

“He’s a pompous, ignorant leech who seems to think when he throws around his name, people will quake in their boots,” Silver says with a scoff. “That file there, it’s the proposal they’ve sent me straight from their committee’s table. It’s a piece of shit, I’ll let you know now, but this particular piece of work has got me cornered-”  


 

“Dufresne’s not going to do anything,” James says, and both Silver and Madi turn to look at him. He continues, “Whatever he’s threatened to do, he won’t.” 

 

“You know Dufresne?” Silver says, eyebrow raised. 

 

James can only barely manage to hide the distaste from his tone when he answers. “I worked on his detail for a few weeks. He has a strategy that does him well for any other senator - threaten to bury their proposal if they vote against his, threaten to blackmail them into submission. But if you call his bluff, he won’t press any further. He’s got no real power to protect himself if it were to come to that.” 

 

“He’s got Hornigold to back him,” Silver replies just as quickly. “Hornigold has the Republicans under his thumb.” 

 

“Dufresne, however, has a mistress and child in the Hamptons that Hornigold doesn’t know about,” James says, and now both of Silver’s eyebrows shoot up. “He had me drive him to her mansion a few times. Hornigold’s conservative enough that it could drive a wedge between them, make him less keen to follow through on Dufresne’s threats.” 

 

Silver and Madi exchange a look. “I’ll be honest, I did not expect to hear this from you,” Agent Flint,” Silver says then, and his eyes are sharp. “Care to comment on your change of heart, then?” 

 

“You asked for a rock, sir,” James says, and he can feel Madi’s eyes on him, but he’s looking at Silver. “I can give you something better than that.” 

 

“Proximity to power deludes some into thinking they wield it,” Silver muses, and he looks at Madi again. “What do you think?” 

  
  
Madi is looking at James, still, and when she glances back at her husband, they share a look that James can’t quite describe. “I think,” Madi says, and she finally opens the dossier, “Agent Flint understands the world we are trapped in. I will contact Eleanor Guthrie - she’s not afraid of crossing Hornigold, and better yet, she would be an ally that would support both of us.”

 

 

•••

 

Eventually, Madi excuses herself to freshen up before they exit the plane. James stands up, but Madi glances back at her husband. “Stay,” she says. “I’ll be right back.” 

 

Already, James can hear the low hum of the plane’s engine as they begin to descend, cutting through the dark clouds. He watches out the small window as the plane lowers, getting closer and closer to the ground below them. 

 

“Billy,” the president says, “Agent Manderly. He tried to tell me that you and Madi were sleeping together, out of some misguided loyalty, or perhaps against you.” 

 

“Sir, I assure you,” James starts, but Silver waves a hand in an arrogant gesture.

 

“Whoever my wife chooses to share her bed with is of no concern to me,” Silver says, and now it’s time for James’s eyebrows to raise despite himself. “We are partners first and foremost, and everything else- well, it all seems so trivial in the end, doesn’t it?” 

  
  
“Sir,” James starts again, and Silver smirks.

  
  
“Do relax, Agent Flint. I know that you two did not share a bed, despite the rumors. I have no doubt Agent Manderly thinks you do, but Madi thought I should bring it up anyways.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” James says, because he’s not quite sure what to say to that. 

 

“You didn’t tell me why, though,” Silver says, suddenly changing the topic. “So now I have some questions for you.”

   
“Pardon me, sir?” James asks, and Silver lays his hands out on the desk.

 

“When you were talking about Dufresne, earlier. You must know all sorts of information - but I’m not interested in how you know it. I’m interested in why you are choosing to share it with me now.” 

 

“What I am offering you,” James says, considering his words, “is what I know. I’m no politician, sir, but I might just know this world better than you do right now. I’ve worked for the Service longer than you’ve been a congressman, let alone a president.” 

 

“You were in the Navy?” Silver asks then, intent. “I wouldn’t say that’s a vacuum away from politics.”

  
  
“For ten years. I was a Lieutenant,” James says. “But you know all of that from my file, sir.”

 

The words come out quicker than he intended, but Silver gives a small smile. “You worked under the Hamilton administration, and you were part of President Hamilton’s detail,”Silver says, and it has none of the bite that it did the last time he confronted James about this information. He’s genuinely curious, James realizes, as the man continues, “From what I know about my predecessor, he and I are very different men.” 

 

“That’s not a question, sir,” James says, and Silver’s mouth tightens. 

  
  
“It’s not a question that I’m asking, it’s the point I’m trying to make. Did you give Hamilton this sort of help?”

 

When James doesn’t immediately respond, Silver sits back. “Please, don’t hold your tongue on my account,” he says, and something in James’s stomach burns just a little.  


 

“He didn’t ask,” James answers, “But because he didn’t want to. He was unlike you, sir, in that he saw the political field as something to be walked through with integrity.”

 

“Are you calling me dishonorable?” Silver says. “Because you’d be right.”  


 

“President Hamilton didn’t require subterfuge,” James says, and the words are heavy in his mouth. “But he wouldn’t have made it far in his term without it, if it had gone differently.”

 

“You think that even if that accident hadn’t happened, he would’ve had to resort to more base crimes like the rest of us?” Silver asks, speaking words to the dark thoughts that had crept through James’s mind many times before.

 

“I think it would have never occurred to him to do such things, to find answers in the dark,” James says. “I think he would’ve stayed to his moral compass even if it found him in ruin, in the end.” 

 

He hides his hands below the table so that Silver can’t see them shake.

  
“I wonder what he thought of you,” Silver says, and James starts.

  
“Sir?”

 

“Hamilton. I wonder what he thought of you.”

 

“I’m sure he paid as much attention to me as to any other agent,” James says levelly. 

 

For a long moment, Silver studies him again. Then, inexplicably, he says, “In another life, perhaps, it would be you in this seat right now, couldn’t it?” 

 

James doesn’t know how to answer that, as Silver’s eyes once again seemingly pin him into place, James staring right back, until Madi comes back in and breaks the sudden tension between them. 

 

“We’ll be landing shortly,” Madi says, and Silver stands, as does James. 

 

“Your speech,” James says suddenly, then, and the president blinks. 

 

“My speech?”

 

  
“Last night,” James says. “Your address in the House.”

 

   
“You liked it?”

  
  
“You should take longer pauses between points,” James says, relishing in Silver's expression, “Sir. Ma’am,” and then he finally takes his leave of the room.

 

There’s been some sort of turning point, he can tell. He can’t pinpoint exactly what happened in that room, but he knows that something changed. 

 

 

•••

 

THEN

 

“How do you stand all of it?” James says, his voice slightly muffled into the pillow. He can feel a paper begin to slide off his back, before Thomas stops its trajectory.

 

“Stand what, darling?” Thomas answers absent-mindedly, scrawling another note on the side of the papers that he’s got stacked on James’s bare back.

 

“The subterfuge, the manipulation,” James says, and Thomas begins to lift papers off of him. “You told me once that there is no honor in politics. How do you do it?”

 

There’s a moment of silence, as Thomas lifts the last paper off of him, and he lays his head down between James’s shoulder blades. James waits.

 

“My father is fond of reminding me of a few things,” Thomas starts with a long moment, and already James’s lip curls at the thought of Alfred Hamilton, “One of those is that I have been given this seat by his name. He had the wealth but not the power, and he was too old by the time he had made a name for himself to actually make any use of it. I suppose he wants to experience this sort of power through the son that could make it to the top, with no thought to how the son might think.”

 

James’s fingers tighten in the sheets, but he lets Thomas continue, “The first day I was in this office, he visited me. He said - horrible things. But I made it clear to him that I don’t care about reelection, about furthering his agenda. He can call me naïve, empty-headed, but I do believe that we can do great things in this country, that the people can change for the better.” His fingers tighten on James’s side, then. “Do you believe me?” 

 

James rolls over, and he lifts one of Thomas’s hand, pressing a dry kiss to his knuckles. “You’re a good man,” James says quietly, kissing his hand again. “You’re more than your father’s name. People trust you, and most importantly, you hold their best interests at heart. You’re the only politician I’ve ever met who actually cares. More people should say that.”

 

It’s true. He’s always been a cynic, but Thomas is something far brighter than should be possible, and that makes James believe in anything.

 

Thomas pulls back to study James’s expression, and whatever he sees there, he lets out a small, surprised huff of air. “If all of my supporters had that sort of fervor,” he says, “I would change the world in a heartbeat.”

 

“I think you should have more of your supporters in your bed, then,” James says, and he laughs when Thomas makes an indignant noise, then tackling him until he can press kisses all over James’s face and neck.

 

In the low light of the lamp beside the bed, it would have seemed right to whisper, _I love you_ into Thomas’s ear right at that moment, as natural as breathing in and out, but he doesn’t, for whatever reason.

 

 

 

 

He wishes he had. 

 

 

•••

 

NOW

 

In Paris, Silver does not manage to gift the French president with boxed wine, but he does get to try frog legs at one of the formal dinners with all the other heads of state. The next day, the newspapers print a photo of President Silver gleefully grinning, a fried piece dangling from his mouth. What the photo didn’t manage to capture was James watching from Madi’s side, with carefully hidden amusement as the heads of state alternate between looking shocked and thrilled around the table they were all seated at. 

 

Then they’re off to Denmark, to Italy, to Egypt, Singapore- countless countries, and long hours spent on the plane. Most of which are spent, not surprisingly, with Silver and James arguing. They develop a kind of banter, one which Madi chimes in on more often than not, and as James talks more with the President, there’s something especially infuriating about John Silver that gets under his skin, that makes him apt to snap back. Silver, for his part, seems to grow even more animated when James replies, and Madi often watches the two of them talk with amused eyes. 

 

“We’re trying to reaffirm the United States as a friendly ally to the world,” Silver argues, digging into his lunch, which is some greasy sandwich he had convinced the aides to get for them. He points a French fry at James. “We’ve already meddled far into the workings of the world, so we can’t expect to withdraw in some sort of isolationist mindset.”

 

“There is no need to reaffirm with our presence if we believe that we are so entrenched in the workings of the world, as you say,” James replies just as quickly, brushing salt of his jacket that Silver has managed to fling at him with his gesture. “This tour, for example- past policy has set the countries that have been scheduled for your visit. If you truly wanted to tie together the corners of the world, wouldn’t you choose others to visit, if your intentions were as you say they are?”  


 

“You believe the world to be much larger of a place than it is,” Silver counters, taking a quick sip of water to continue his point, “Strengthening our ties with our allies, on the other hands, does reaffirm who our friends are. Friends, I should add, we need desperately.” 

 

“There’s a fine line between soothing our allies and catering to whims,” James starts, but then there’s a knock at the door before he can continue. 

 

“Enter,” Silver says, and the door opens to reveal Max.

 

“You are needed in a call with the Secretary of State,” she says, before glancing over at Madi and James. Madi rises, and James follows her to the doorway. 

  
“Agent Flint, I expect a better answer than that, later,” Silver says just before he leaves, and James can’t help the smallest of smiles that appears on his face before the door closes between them.

 

Madi goes over to where she keeps her briefcase, opening it to take out her computer. “A few weeks ago, I would not have said this, but now it is clear to me,” she says, folding her hands over the device. “You two, despite your disagreements, are of a closer mind than others would guess. I only wonder what that could lead to.” 

 

“Ma’am?” James says, her words catching him off guard, and Madi gives a small smile. 

  
  
“Nothing, Agent Flint. Now, I need to proof his speech for the wreath ceremony in Tokyo tomorrow.”

 

 

 

•••

 

 

They’re getting ready to get off the plane when an arm taps his shoulder. James doesn’t flinch, but he looks sharply to who is touching him.

 

Max looks at him with steady, hard eyes, and she speaks to Madi over James’s shoulder, “Ms. Scott, if I could have a word with your agent here?” 

 

Madi looks between Max and James, and nods. “Of course,” she says, and Max walks down the aisle of the plane, far away from the other people. 

 

James follows her, folding his hands in front of his torso when she stops suddenly. “Ma’am.” 

 

“You have gotten close to the President and the First Lady,” Max says abruptly, and her eyes are even harder up close. James meets her eye, keeps his mouth shut. 

 

It frustrates her, he can tell, even as the corners of her mouth curl up slightly, for her eyes rival Silver’s in their intensity. Instinctively, he knows that Max is not a woman to be trifled with, and he very carefully does not take a step back. “Ma’am,” he repeats.

 

  
“I don’t know what you think,” Max enunciates, “Or what he or she think. But my business is that of this administration, and I will tell you know, if I believe that you are interfering with anything beyond your capability- I will let my feelings be known to the appropriate parties.”

 

“Ma’am,” James says yet again, “I am on their detail. My interests are in protecting the First Lady.” 

 

Max appraises him for a long moment, so long that he can only begin to wonder what she is looking for, and then she cuts in front of him, walking back to the First Lady and President. It’s a dismissal, and as her heels click on the hard surface of the aisle, James exhales slowly once she’s out of earshot.

 

 

 

•••

 

 

They’re in a hotel when James wakes up to the sound of quiet footsteps outside of his door. Footsteps that he instinctively knows should not be happening at this moment. 

 

He’s up and moving, expertly handling his gun and halfway out of the bedroom when he recognizes the figure slinking down the hallway. “Mr. President!” he hisses. 

 

Silver, wearing a thin tee shirt and grey sweatshirt pulled over his head, turns towards him. “I’m just going for a run,” he says, as though that’s an entirely acceptable excuse to be unescorted at the moment. “You should go back to your book. You don’t sleep much, do you, Agent Flint?” 

 

“I’ll alert your detail,” James says flatly, putting his gun back in the holster and feeling the adrenaline die down. “It’ll be just a moment, sir.”

 

Silver winces, slightly, and James reads more in that than he could ever discern from Silver’s words. “Sir, have you been sneaking out at night?” He’s already imagining how he’s going to explain this particular loophole in the service’s security to Hennessey, or God forbid, Madi, considering the president has managed to become ten seconds away from being outside unattended. 

 

“You make it sound so salacious,” Silver scoffs. “I’m just going up and down the block. No need to have anyone around me.”

 

“Mr. President, it is out of the question for you to be going out alone,” James tells him firmly, pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘You’ve been using the service elevator to get out, I assume.”

 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

 

‘Sir, you know I cannot allow this,” James says. He prepares to go terrify whatever shitty agents are on detail right now, but then there’s an unholy gleam in the president’s eye. 

 

“Then you would have to come along, wouldn’t you?”

 

“Absolutely not-”

 

“If you come with me, I’ll tell you how exactly I’m getting out,” Silver promises.

 

Which is how James finds himself jogging alongside the leader of the free world at three in the morning, sweatshirts pulled over both of their heads, the air crisp and fresh on their faces.

 

“Madi’s telling me to improve my cardiovascular,” Silver huffs after several long minutes have passed of them running. He’s no natural runner, unlike James’s effortless strides long baked in from his days of boot camp. “I think she just likes the idea of me suffering.”

 

“Sometimes, you deserve it, sir,” James says, and Silver wheezes out a laugh. James’s mind supplies him with a mental map of the roads around the hotel, so he directs Silver down one of the empty roads with a nudge of his shoulder. 

 

“You’re much more fun than Billy, though the bar is low there,” Silver tells him, and James’s eyebrow rises.

 

“I’ve never been called fun before, sir.”

 

“Again with the sir. Don’t you think we’re beyond that, by now?” 

 

“And I thought we were beyond explaining why you can’t be going out alone at night, or ever, for that matter.” 

 

“Would you believe that I just needed to clear my head?”

  
“You can clear your head without risking your life. You’re not just some congressman anymore, Mr. President.”

 

“I need the space,” Silver says, and James slows down their pace. “I suppose all of this, it isn’t something I thought would happen so quickly. Madi’s taken to it like a fish in the sea, but she’s always been strong like that.”

 

“You became President in an unprecedented amount of time,” James allows, as they move off the sidewalk thanks to a trash can that’s been blown over, now rolling in the street. “I would imagine that there would be difficulties in that adjustment.” 

 

“I saw the opportunity, and I took it,” Silver muses, “And look where that got me. Do you think that makes me a bad man, to try to make some sense of the twisted world I have been thrown into, to take advantage of those who would have done the same?”

 

“You don’t need me to answer that.”

 

“I think I would want to hear your answer.” Silver’s shoulder bumps into his. “You’re not holding back on me now, are you?” 

 

James doesn’t answer that. He focuses on each breath of air working through his lungs, the street lights shining overhead as they move down the empty road. 

 

“When you were with the Hamiltons,” Silver says then suddenly, and James resolutely doesn’t turn his head to look at Silver, but the breath catches painfully in his chest once more, as he’s caught off guard. “Were you there when it happened?” 

 

He focuses on the rhythm their sneakers make on the pavement, as Silver continues from beside him, “I know you took time off after the accident before working for Madi. But you weren’t injured in the incident.”

 

“I wasn’t there,” James allows after another long moment, “I was on the President’s detail since his campaign, but it was not during my shift. I was one of their more- trusted agents.” 

 

“You were more than that,” Silver says, slowing to a stop, and James then turns sharply to look at him. “Weren’t you?” 

 

James studies Silver’s face, then turns to look up at one of the lights overhead. They’re alone in the street, the faint buzz of the lights the only sound. Somewhere above them, there’s a bird that is fluttering high in the alleyway, the quick darting shadow catching his eye.

 

When he says nothing else, Silver exhales, frustrated. “See, when you go silent like that, I am compelled to pry,” he says, and then goes surprisingly quiet when he sees whatever’s on James’s face. “Would you tell me?”

 

The words are surprisingly soft, and James shifts his weight onto his heels for a moment, measuring the situation. Silver waits, his eyelashes casting dark shadows onto the tops of his cheekbones, over the constant dark circles under his eyes.

 

“We were friends,” James says then, and the words scrape the inside of his ribs. “He trusted me.” 

 

“But you were more, weren’t you?” Silver asks, and something on James’s face must shutter, for Silver quickly adds, “You don’t have to tell me. But I’d like to know.” 

 

It would be so easy to say something, to touch upon something that James has long pushed down, every memory, every thought. But instead, he says, “You still haven’t told me how you escape your detail, sir,” and perhaps there’s something in Silver’s eyes that shine like disappointment, but they continue to run into the night. 

 

 

•••

 

When they get back to the hotel, Madi is waiting in the hallway that leads to all of the rooms, in front of their shared suit. Billy and Bonny are there as well, and once Billy sees the two of them come around the corner, he says something into the microphone at his ear, and the two agents disappear again. Anne glares at James as she walks by, but that’s nothing particularly out of the ordinary. 

 

“Agent Flint, I appreciate you going out with my husband at this hour,” she says crisply,even as Silver grins, loose and easy when he sees her. 

 

“He didn’t break protocol if I’m the one giving orders, all right,” Silver says, going to her side. He puts an arm around her waist, even as she lightly tries to push him away. 

  
“You reek of sweat,” the First Lady informs him, and he kisses her lightly.

 

“It was nothing, ma’am,” James says, feeling something warm, perhaps exasperation, curl in his stomach. “Mr. President, do try to stay indoors for the remainder of the night.” 

 

“Well, I told you my escape route now, didn’t I?” Silver retorts, but his face is relaxed. 

 

“You’re nothing but a man of your word,” James says flatly, but when Silver grins at him, James has to stifle a smile in reply. 

 

“Enough, I’m taking you to bed,” Madi says, pulling Silver’s arm around her more, and Silver drops a kiss low onto her throat, then another, open-mouthed, just above her collarbone revealed by the loose, filmy robe she’s wearing. “ _John_. Good night, Agent Flint.” 

 

“Yes, have an excellent night, Agent Flint,” Silver says, his mouth curled up around the edges as he kisses higher on Madi’s neck, eyes meeting James’s as he does so.

 

There’s a moment when those eyes fix on his, though, that James finds the air stuck in his lungs. Silver’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, but it’s not hostile - and James is frozen from moving, as those eyes watch him, as the slightest hint of tongue dips out, chasing the curve of Madi’s neck. But then the First Lady pulls Silver into their room - finally - and James is left alone in the hallway when their door closes, staring into space. 

 

James enters his room, dropping his keys, shoes, and gun once again right beside his bed. As is standard, his room is next to their suite, and he can hear their muffled voices through the wall. James gets into the small bed, careful to face away from the shared wall in his best effort not to invade their privacy. 

 

But his hearing is still sharp, and he can’t physically block sound out in case something were to happen. So James rolls over, tries to ignore the sounds as best as he can, as he hears the distinct sound of an expensive headboard hitting the wall, the quiet gasps and moans that follow, the muffled laughter of two lovers. 

 

Before he can stop himself, James sees Silver’s mouth tracing up Madi’s neck once again, the easy tilt of his head as he does so. Then he’s imagining Silver’s mouth on his own neck for one thrilling second -imagines the heat of his mouth, the quick line of dampness it leaves in its trail, the heavy press of Silver right behind him- before he chases that image away in surprise. 

 

He shuts his eyes, trying to force himself to sleep. But a pair of searing blue eyes follows him into his dreams, despite his best efforts.

 

 

•••

 

 

Early that morning, he gets a call on his phone. James sits up, and has the phone open and to this ear before he can fully process his actions. 

 

“James,” Hennessey says, and he begins to relive that awful morning just a few months ago, but then Hennessey says, “He’s alive. There was a mild cardiac episode a few hours ago, and they flew him into Medstar just in case.” 

 

James doesn’t ask why Hennessey called, and he raises a trembling hand, rubs it across his face. “Are you there?” 

  
  
“I can put him on,” Hennessey says. “Son - I don’t think-”

 

“Put him on,” James says hoarsely, consequences be damned, and there’s a long moment, until he hears another voice. _That voice._

 

“James?” The voice sounds faint, but Jameshas to focus on holding the phone, his hands are shaking so badly now, at the person on the other end, the voice he hasn’t heard in over a year. “James, are you there?” 

 

“Thomas,” he breathes out. “ _Thomas_.” 

 

“James,” Thomas says, and there’s a faint cough. James stands up, suddenly, the sheets falling to the ground. 

  
  
“Are you alright?” he demands, and he’s putting his holster at his waist before he can think about it, pulling on clothes. “Thomas!”

 

“I’ve been better,” he says, and James closes his eyes, presses the phone tighter to his head.  


 

“Hennessey called me,” he says then. “He said a cardiac episode?” 

 

“I’ve had worse,” Thomas says, then, and every word he hears in that voice is like a fresh stab wound in his gut, but it’s the most alive he’s felt- “I had you put... as next of kin,” and James makes a low sound, punched straight out his gut. 

 

“ _Thomas_ ,” he says again. “I can’t- I can’t.” 

 

“I know you had your reasons, but I need you,” Thomas says softly, and his voice is quiet on the other line, and James’s heart breaks even further. “God. Please, just come back to me. Or just talk to me, please. James.”

 

James squeezes his eyes. His mind goes to the photos he’d seen, of the accident, Miranda- and he knows what he has to do, what his orders were. 

 

“I can’t,” he says, “Thomas, I’m sorry-”but then there’s sound on the other end of the line, and Hennessey is back. 

 

“Apologies, James,” he says, his usually gruff voice somber. “You know if I could, I’d let you come back.”

 

“I understand,” James says, feels the hollow space in his chest widen. “Just- please, sir, call if he gets worse.” 

 

“I will,” Hennessey says, and James hangs up the phone. 

 

He doesn’t sleep after that. 

 

 

•••


	4. Chapter 4

James knocks on the hotel room door. He rubs his eyes, as he waits for a second, before opening the door just a few inches with his key card. “Ma’am, sir,” he says, not looking into the room,”The car is out front.” They have a public appearance this morning, a speech and a ribbon cutting ceremony for a new school that they sponsored before going to the White House, before flying back to D.C.

 

“Just a moment,” the president’s voice comes through, and James can hear the First Lady’s voice murmuring something to him.

 

“Come in, Agent Flint,” Madi says, and James waits another half beat before opening the door the rest of the way. 

 

There’s no one in the suite at first glance, but he looks past the room to the French doors that lead outside. One of which is propped open with a strategically placed high heel, James notices, as he shuts the door behind him. 

 

James crosses the room to stand in the entryway of the balcony. “This should be closed, and you should both be inside,” he says, trying to sound firm even as both Madi and Silver smirk up at him from where they’re seated. “It’s a security concern."

 

“Why don’t you take a load off,” Silver says, his arm around Madi’s waist from where she’s perched on the arm of his chair. They’re both mostly dressed, and he notices a dark bruise at the base of the President’s neck, revealed by the gap at the top of his unbuttoned shirt. Silver is still watching him when James drags his eyes away. Whatever has happened to his self-control, it seems, he’ll have to contemplate later. 

 

Madi reaches for the cigarette in Silver’s hand. “Come sit with us, James.” She motions with her bare foot to the chair across from them. “We’re enjoying this lovely morning weather.” 

 

“I’m supposed to stay on my feet,” James tells them, keeping his eyes resolutely on a flower pot behind them. “Sir, ma’am, the car-“ 

 

Silver still manages to catch his eye. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” Silver says, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Sit with us. That’s a request, not an order.” 

 

He should be telling them once again about the people waiting downstairs, but somehow James complies, stepping out into the light of the balcony. Silver snags the cigarette back from Madi as James takes the chair across from them. 

 

The president exhales a plume of smoke through his nose, still watching James, before he asks, “Did you have a good night?” 

 

“Just fine, sir.” 

 

Silver taps the cigarette on the edge of the ash tray, before Madi moves, getting off his lap with a sigh. “I should finish getting dressed,” she says, moving behind Silver’s chair so that she can press a kiss to his cheek. “Red tie today.”

 

“Excellent,” Silver says, still looking at James. “We think alike.” 

 

Madi slips back into the hotel room and Silver’s eyes continue to bore into him. James speaks before he can think better of it, trying to get that gaze to break. “Those things will kill you, you know.” 

 

“Ah,” Silver says, taking another drag, as if in spite. “But what can I say? I have my vices.” The curve of his mouth should be illegal. James’s fingers tighten slightly against his will. “Don’t all men?” 

 

James keeps his face professional, even, not willing to think about Silver’s mouth around a cigarette for one moment longer, as the thought stubbornly sticks to the back of his mind. “I don’t smoke.” 

 

“That’s not what I meant, now, was it,” Silver says.

 

He had quit some time ago. It had been a habit in the Navy, one that he hadn’t given much thought as he was in danger most of the time as part of his job, and figured something else might kill him before he had to worry. Then he had had a particularly bad cold one winter when he started working at the White House, one that had left him with a rattling cough for several weeks. Thomas had started to hand him print-outs on the dangers of tar in the lungs, giving him baleful eyes whenever James tried to sneak out to light a cigarette, and Miranda had “accidentally” squashed several cartons when he stayed overnight with them. The message had been clear, and after a certain amount of stubbornness, he had quit, if only because this had been the first time someone had _cared_ enough. 

 

Then, he had a reason to strive to be better. Reasons that were dead and gone now. 

 

Sometimes he dreams of the sweet heavy taste of smoke on his tongue. It’s a feeling he gets just like when Silver is looking at him now, lidded eyes watching him as he finishes his cigarette. The feeling makes something inside him itch, curl like the ash at the end of the cigarette, but he doesn’t think it’s anything to do with smoke. 

 

They both are quiet, as Silver fiddles with the cigarette, and James turns instead to look out over the balcony. Silver seems contemplative, quieter than usual, and James turns back just as he lets out a soft exhale. 

 

James thinks that sometimes, in these moments, Silver is waiting for him. Like he’s expectant, waiting for James to break the silence. Only James has spent many years learning exactly how to keep his mouth shut, and he isn’t about to be - whatever this is - into compliance. He looks out over the balcony, feels Silver’s eyes on the side of his face, and resolutely doesn’t look at him. 

 

Eventually, Silver straightens up from his slouch in the seat after some time, rolling his head on his shoulders. James watches him from the corner of his eye. “God, I’m all sore from last night,” Silver says, and James looks at him, finally, just as Silver takes another drag of his cigarette. 

 

James can hear the faint hum of city traffic in the distance. “We only ran a few miles, sir.” 

 

“Right, the running,” Silver says with a wave of his hand. Before he can notice the dark flush that starts to climb James’s neck under his suit collar, Madi appears at the glass doors once more, dressed and putting on another earring. 

 

“Zip me up?” she directs at her husband, who flicks the cigarette stub off the balcony, standing as James straightens up even more in his chair. 

 

Madi turns around, and James watches as he runs his hand up the inside of her dress, knuckles brushing the bare back of her skin as he pulls up the tiny zipper in a practiced motion. She’s wearing a dark silk dress, one that James thinks is black, before it catches the sunlight to reveal a rich burgundy color. 

 

“The speech John’s going to give this morning,” Madi says, and it takes a moment for James to realize that she’s speaking to him, as Silver begins to tie the cloth at the back of the dress into a loose bow. “Have you read it?”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” James says. “Your husband was very insistent that I read a draft a few days ago.” 

 

“Like you didn’t talk my ear off about the politicization of international schools,” Silver says, brushing his hand against her hip in a display of comfortable intimacy. “Anyways, Agent Flint here thought it was very bland."

James says, “It was decent, sir.” 

 

“Decent,” Silver repeats, giving a low laugh. “I would have hoped for more- I don’t know, _more_.” 

 

“It’s predictable,” James says. He knows better now than to try to sugar-coat it, try to appease what he thinks they might want to hear. “It’s only for a ribbon-cutting ceremony, though. I doubt they expect you to go into your foreign policy, what with all those school children there."

 

“It’s never just a quick speech, not with this job,” Silver says. “You think I should create some sort of scandal, is that it?”

 

“I’m saying, this is a relatively low-pressure event,” James says steadily. “You could introduce any sort of radical plan-“

 

“Radical plan?” Silver says, shifting on his feet, “I was voted into this seat by a house of conservatives. You think if I started talking about any sort of real change-“

 

“Change you believe in,” James points out. “Change that _you_ now have the power to do so.”

 

“He’s right,” Madi says, and Silver makes an incredulous noise as he looks at her. “There is an opportunity here. Rogers will be present at the ceremony today, and I’m sure we could arrange a meeting.“ 

 

Silver scoffs, low in his throat. “I’ve managed to climb into this seat, had to do things I never wanted to do.” There’s a shift in the mood, then, as he turns his head to look out over the balcony edge, his expression darkening. “Senator Woodes fucking Rogers. He’s like a slug on the ground, oozing around until he can find somewhere to stick. If I attempt any sort of _change_ , as you say, he’ll try to bury me before I can open my mouth again.”  

 

Rogers had assumed the role of President before elections, as he was the Vice President when the accident happened - just before Silver had usurped him as a relative newcomer to get into the White House. James can’t remember much of what happened during Rogers's time in the White House -  his interactions with him were hurried, as he was never part of the ex-Vice President’s detail, and the months after the accident were a blurry grief and alcohol-fueled haze-  but he had never liked the man.

 

“I know the dangers that change presents,” James says, unable to keep the bitterness out of his tone as he speaks. “But to reason how the world will make any sort of sense, for men like him to be in power while others suffer, is not the true task at hand. I cannot believe we are so immovable in that way, that we cannot change our ways so that we might make the future better, through any cost.” 

 

“Spoken like a true philosopher,” Silver says after a moment, his eyes speculative. “One day, Agent Flint, you are going to tell me just what the world has done to you.” 

 

“Rogers is despicable, but he is a man we will need to deal with, ” Madi points out, with a note of finality as James stares right back at Silver. “When we can, we will step on that particular slug. For now, you have a speech to give.” She tugs on Silver’s tie lightly, and James stands up in response. 

 

“Have to keep going for that bright thought,” Silver says, and he picks up his jacket, shrugging it on before also rising. “You don’t suppose the car left without us, did it?” 

 

“We are desperately late,” Madi says, a small smile on her face, and she picks up her high heel. “I’m afraid we got sidetracked. Apologies, Agent Flint."

 

“I think that’ll be acceptable,” Silver says, his mouth twisted into a smile so unlike the one he plastered across his face in public. “Agent, are you to make sure that we don’t get shot between our hotel room and the lobby?”

 

“Always, sir,” James says. 

 

 

•••

 

Rogers is waiting for them in the meeting room, the expression on his face that shows little charm in the favor of a calculated look in his eyes. “Mr. President,” he greets, rising from the table. It’s a makeshift meeting space, one that just barely passed muster by James on such short notice. James takes a position by the door, with Eme on the other side of the room by the windows. There are two more agents at the door, but still, he casts a glance over the room just in case he has to pull Silver and Madi out.

 

Silver shakes his hand, and there’s a definite tightness in his face that James notices, even as his smile appears as bright as it looks on the television. “Senator Rogers.”

 

“It’s an honor to meet with you during your travels,” Rogers says. “Mrs. Silver, an honor, as well.”

 

“It’s Ms. Scott, Senator Rogers,” Madi says smoothly.

James doesn’t miss the way that Silver’s fist tightens ever so slightly as Rogers says, “My apologies, Ms. Scott."

 

“It’s a common mistake,” Madi says, and she touches the side of Silver’s leg, quick enough that James nearly misses it.

 

“I am glad that you came here,” Rogers says, as they all sit down. “Your words today, Mr. President - now that was quite a speech.” 

 

“Not my best,” Silver says, and Rogers laughs, but Silver’s smile doesn’t even come near his eyes. 

 

“You’re quite the humble man.” 

 

“I’ve heard the opposite. By you, in fact,” Silver says nearly too casually, and James recognizes this as the moment in which he leans forward, a shark in the water as he crosses his legs in the chair like he’s sitting on a throne. “You’ve never been a fan of my administration, have you, senator?” 

 

“Now, whatever I might have said in the past, that was all politics,” Rogers says. “Nothing personal, of course- “

 

“I believe you’ve said some rather personal things about my wife, actually,” Silver says, as though he’s discussing the weather. Madi tilts her head, too, and James can see the moment that Rogers knows he’s trapped in this room with them. “Care to discuss that?” 

 

“My apologies,” Rogers says, addressing Madi. “Ms. Scott-“ 

 

“I believe,” Madi says, considering the man in front of her, “That you suggested that I gave up my career in favor of following my husband into the White House. I believe you said some rather inflammatory words about my husband’s political career, that he seeks his advisor like- how did you say- _like a cripple._ "

 

"Ms. Scott-"

 

"You targeted my family, Senator Rogers, and you need to answer for that.” There's dead silence in the room. 

 

Roger’s eyes narrow. “I did not come here for you to address me like that-“ 

 

“You came here to grovel,” Silver says. 

 

“ _Grovel_ -“ 

 

“You’re going to grovel,” Silver says, “Because otherwise, we will bury you, and that's a promise.” 

 

 

•••

 

They leave Rogers a white-faced, shaking mess, his hands curled around his chair arms in anger, but he’s unable to do much more than agree to the terms Silver and Madi lay out for him, as they depart. 

 

“Do you think we’ve got him?” Silver says quietly, low enough so that only James and Madi can hear. The other service agents are trailing behind them or up ahead, and James glances around on reflex as they walk. 

 

"He’s not going to be any threat to our administration,” Madi says coolly, and she and Silver exchange a look while they walk down the hall. “If he tries, we will strike him down.” 

 

“Sir, ma’am, your car is out front. Do you want to stop by the crowds?” James asks. 

 

Madi and Silver exchange another look. “We should,” Madi says. 

 

“Five minutes,” Silver says. “Lead the way, Agent Flint.” 

 

Downstairs, Silver and Madi pause just after exiting the hotel to wave to some of the crowd that’s gathered out there. They hold hands as they do so, and their waves are perfectly synchronized, as are the twin smiles on their expressions. 

 

They make a picture-perfect couple, as James watches them take photos with some admirers, Madi elegant and Silver handsome despite the harsh glare of the sunlight. Silver’s eyes meet James’s, and he schools his features, but not before another grin slides over Silver’s face, brighter than the sun overhead. 

 

James has to push away some overeager people dangling over the barrier, and he and the other agents work in careful sync to get the President and the First Lady to their car. 

 

He climbs into the backseat with them while Billy drives the car. The line of cars start to move, and James watches as Silver undoes his tie, then turns to watch the crowds of people past them by through the tinted windows. 

 

“Pass me my bag, would you,” Madi says, and Silver complies. “James, when are we leaving tonight?” 

 

“Ten o’clock,” James says. “If you would like, I could arrange for that to be moved-“

 

“No, that’s fine,” Madi says, and she looks over at her husband. “John, we should strategize what comes next. Rogers is cowed for now, but he’s going to try to gain back any sort of political momentum he can.”

 

“You think he’ll try to get Dufresne on his side?” Silver asks, dropping a cufflink into the cup holder between them. 

 

“Probably,” Madi says absent-mindedly, scrolling through her phone. Then she looks up, addresses James. “There’s something we should discuss, though.”

 

He straightens up. “Anything, ma’am.” 

 

“I was considering having you switch details,” Madi says inexplicably, and Silver’s hands still from where he’s trying to get the second cufflink. “I spoke to Hennessey about it already, but I wanted to talk to you before we made any decisions, as it’s your job we’re talking about.”

 

“I serve both of you, technically,” James says slowly. “Wherever you need me, I would be willing to serve.” 

 

“But I want to make sure that you would want to switch,” Madi says again, and she’s watching James with a sort of scrutiny that he doesn’t know quite how to react with. “What would you think?” 

 

“If this is about the late-night jogging, ma’am, I’m not sure that would dissuade him one bit,” James says, despite Silver’s spluttering. 

 

“That’s part of it,” Madi says, “But not all of it.”

 

He looks at her for a long moment. “All right, ma’am,” James says, and then he dares glance at Silver. 

 

Silver is looking at the window, surprisingly enough, and as though he can feel James’s eyes on him, he turns back. “All right,” Silver repeats, quiet, and James watches as he pulls the second cufflink out of his sleeve. It falls onto the ground, this time, and James bends over, scoops it up. He drops it into Silver’s outstretched hand, and there’s a moment when Silver’s fingers curl around the gold piece, and they’re both still. 

 

“I’m going to make some calls,” Madi says, and James brings his hand back to his lap. “James, do make sure my husband doesn’t do anything too reckless tonight.” 

 

“I’ll try my best, ma’am,” James says, and Silver snorts. 

 

 

•••

 

 

“Would you take me jogging again?” Silver says, and James snaps to attention from where he’s at the entrance of the room. 

 

“Sir?” 

 

“Not to be dramatic, but if you call me sir one more time, I’ll be forced to use your gun on myself,” Silver says. “Jogging. I’m going. You coming with me?” 

 

“You can’t just _go jogging_ ,” James says, but he’s already moving so that he can put on his sneakers. “Damn it, Mr. President-“ 

 

“There it is,” Silver says, “The famed Flint temper.” 

 

He pauses, fingers on his laces. “The what?” 

 

“Oh, I just heard some fascinating stories from Admiral Hennessey during our chat today,” Silver says. “Come on, put on your shoes, let’s go-“ 

 

“Just one moment,” James mutters darkly under his breath as he finishes with his laces. 

 

“I knew I could count on you,” Silver says, and the leader of the free world shouldn’t look that gleeful. “We’re sneaking out, all right, so try not to make so much noise.” 

 

They take a back route, and luckily, the sun has fallen so that their faces are obscured by shadow as they pass by a few people. All James can hear is the distant honking of traffic, and Silver’s panting breaths beside him. 

 

“The stories,” James says first when Silver seems content to huff and puff beside him. 

 

“I called Hennessey to confirm that you’re being transferred to my detail,” Silver says, “And I asked about you.”

 

“He’s known me for a long time,” James says, keeping his eyes in front of him. 

 

“He said that you were a fierce Navy lieutenant once, with a bit of a temper.” 

 

“Did he say it’s because of my hair?” They turn onto the next street.

 

“No,” Silver says, “Although that’s a good one. Did you really push a man overboard once because he disobeyed you?” 

 

“It’s a strict system,” James says, and Silver laughs, low and rumbling like the sound of wheels over gravel. “It requires obedience, and besides, they were going to have swimming drills that day.” 

 

“God, and then you’re saddled with me,” Silver says. “I’m like the picture of a terrible child gone wrong.” 

 

“You, a terrible child?” James says before he can help himself. “I don’t believe it.” 

 

“I know, truly, it’s a stretch of your imagination,” Silver agrees. “I was a menace. I’m amazed the press really has yet to dig into my university days. Before I met Madi, I was- well, I was a bit of a bastard.” 

 

“Really,” James deadpans, and Silver laughs again. 

 

“Yeah, well, she helped me grow up, in many ways,” he slows down, and James follows his lead. “Mind if we stop for a bit? My back’s still a bit sore.” 

 

James glances around- it’s an abandoned park, and normally, he would make Silver move, but there’s alone. He keeps his senses sharp, though, and he guides them to sit on a nearby bench. 

 

The wood is cool underneath his thighs, and James stares down at the chipping paint. 

 

“You know,” Silver says, after a moment, “I meant it, last night.” 

 

James looks up, meets his eye. Silver continues, “You’ve been quiet since then. I heard- I thought I heard your phone go off.”

 

He makes sure his breathing remains steady, before answering, “Did you?” 

 

“I didn’t eavesdrop, in case you’re wondering. But-“ and Silver stops, and he sounds like he’s unsure when he continues, “If you want to talk about it- you can.” 

 

“Why do you care?” James says finally, looking at the mix of emotions bloom across Silver’s face. “Are you just wondering, or does it disturb you, to hear whatever rumors and not know the truth from fiction?” 

 

Silver doesn’t bother countering whatever rumors he might have heard, for which James is at least slightly grateful. He does sigh, though, and turn out to look at the shadowy, muted tones of the park. 

 

When he turns back to face James, there’s something careful about his expression.  “I care because I think there’s more to the story than what I’ve heard,” Silver counters, and James can see the dark shadow of his eyelashes on the tops of his cheeks once again, the sliver of alert blue of his eyes visible. “Will you tell me?” 

 

The light from the lamp above them is a nearly greenish glow, and it should cast Silver’s skin in an ugly pallor, but instead, he seems otherworldly, shining with something beyond what James is capable of expressing just then. He looks down at his own hands, also glowing in this green light, and he thinks of sea glass, of the crunch of sand beneath his feet, a faraway cottage on the coast. 

 

So James tells him. He tells him about his relationship with Miranda, with Thomas- the night of the accident, the phone call he had received. The drinking, and glasses he’d thrown against the wall, the books he had burned.

 

Then, under Silver’s heavy gaze, he goes even further, feels himself slipping, telling him what he was unable to go over himself. There’s a quiet buzzing in his ears that starts as he reveals this to Silver, who is uncharacteristically silent as he stares out into the dark park. 

 

“When Hennessey called me again, after the funeral,” James starts. He feels his throat constrict for a moment, stopping him before he’s able to continue his thought.

   
"Go on," Silver says, the first thing he's said since James started speaking. He feels his heartbeat thud, deep inside his chest.

 

“When he called me- I was still grieving,” James says then. "I couldn’t see Thomas, couldn’t face him, couldn’t tell him I lost the woman we had both loved - and Hennessey had told me that they had found out. “

 

“About your relationship with them?” Silver asks, and James nods, his throat trying to work. “What happened?” 

 

“They gave me a choice. Thomas- his father, he had always been a fierce opponent of gay rights, and more importantly, he was an opponent of Thomas,” James says, and he can taste something bitter on his tongue. “He told Hennessey that if I continued contact with Thomas, he would work to tear down everything that Thomas had created in his administration. He said that the gossip alone would turn the media’s spotlight into every decision Thomas or I ever made and that his name would be dragged through the mud by the time he was through.”

 

“Jesus Christ,” Silver says after a moment. “Hennessey told you this?” 

 

“Thomas was going to be scandalized, defiled, all because I loved him,” James says. “I couldn’t- I wasn’t going to let that happen.”

 

He’s surprised when he feels a warm weight on his hand, and he looks over to see Silver, his expression somewhere between horrified and sorrowed, reaching out to him. “I’m sorry,” Silver says quietly. 

 

 James nods. “He- he was injured in the accident. He needed the time to recuperate, so Rogers was brought into the office while they sent Thomas away. I was put on leave by Hennessey, and I just came back when you and Madi arrived. I haven’t seen him since.” 

 

“I’m sorry,” Silver repeats, and James stares down at his hand on top of his own. 

 

“It’s nothing you did,” he says before he can help himself. “You asked, so I told you. I trust you.” 

 

Silver’s fingers clench on his own. “I’m sorry.” Before James can say anything to that, Silver repeats, “James. I’m sorry.” 

 

They stay like that for a long while, both situated underneath the light, sitting on that park bench, and both unwilling to let go. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall........... this has been a long time coming. i'm shameless. extra long update too!! only some plot but the setup that was v necessary

It’s raining when they land back in D.C, the mist hanging low over the tarmac as James can see from the plane window. Silver is set to be whisked away to a cabinet meeting minutes after they touch down, and he kisses Madi quickly before he leaves the plane. James dips his head to the First Lady before he exits right after him,  Max following behind Silver and speaking in a low voice as they go.

Under the procession of dark umbrellas on the way to the cars, James does his usual checks. In the middle of glancing around, as the agents fan out around them, he sees that the mist gathers as tiny droplets in Silver’s hair where it’s tied neatly at the base of his neck, making the back of his collar just a little damp even though he’s shielded from the elements, Max going into one of the cars to the left as Silver gets into the main car.

 

James gets into the front seat, next to Eme who’s driving, but then he can hear Silver’s rumbling voice through the partition as he speaks to someone. 

 

James's door opens.  Billy squints down at him, his short hair getting spiky from the rain. “He wants you in the back with him,” he says flatly, and James ducks into the rain to get in the back, hiding the smile on his face.

 

“There you are,” Silver says as James climbs in. “Honestly, why do you even bother sitting in the front?”

 

“I never mean to presume, sir,” James says, and Silver rolls his eyes as he flips a page of whatever he’s reading. “That, and Billy seemed to be determined to be in here with you.”

 

Silver snorts. The car starts moving, and James looks out to the rain-spotted window, as they leave the airport, the steady thrum of the engine the only sound in the compartment.

 

“It’s good to be back,” Silver says. "I mean, I’m dreading speaking to the Senate tomorrow, but still, it’s something to be said about D.C.’s weather this time of year."

 

“You like the rain?”

 

“Helps me think,” Silver says, reaching for a folder that’s been placed in the briefcase sitting on the seat by him. “The sound, it puts Madi right to sleep, but some of the best ideas I’ve ever had have been born of storms.”

 

“You should try sleeping,” James says in return. “You might be able to put some of those ideas in play if you actually get any rest.”

 

“Are you worried about me, Agent Flint?” Silver asks, the corner of his mouth curling up. “Between you and Madi, I think my health is very well taken care of.”

 

James chooses to look out the window instead of fully respond to that. 

 

He thinks about Silver’s hand on his, the shadows on his face that night on the park bench, all those weeks ago. He hasn’t brought it up since James had told him about Thomas - and James is not sure what he expected. He doesn’t know what Silver has told Madi, either. Silver has a lot on his plate to contemplate, but to learn that your bodyguard had slept with his last charge - well, James might have expected something to discuss. That Silver hasn’t sought to reassign him, bring it up, _something_ -

 

Maybe he should think about why that thought doesn’t terrify him as much as it should, how he can speak about any of it with Silver and not feel exposed.

 

They’re halfway back to the White House before Silver speaks again. It’s in a lower voice, so James leans forward instinctively as Silver asks him, “Do you know what Max told me, a few weeks ago?”

 

James thinks about Billy’s twisted expression, Max’s eyes following him. “I presume nothing particularly flattering if you’re telling me.”

 

"Well, that’s to be assumed,” Silver says, mouth curled a little like a secret he’s about to reveal. “One day you’ll have to tell me what you did to generate such specific ire.”

 

“What did you want to discuss?” 

“Well, Max has long shared her misgivings regarding you in particular,” Silver says. “Did you know that?” 

 

James looks to the side, at the delicate stitches on the seams of the dark leather seats. “She approached me on the matter.” 

 

“I have my suspicion that it was of a personal matter, nothing to do with your profession,” Silver says, sounding like he’s trying to assure him. “The personal matter, see - well - “

 

“Is this that eloquence that CNN says got you elected?” 

 

“I’m regretting ever telling you to speak out of turn,” Silver tells him. “They shouldn’t have to make you carry a gun if your tongue’s so sharp.”

 

“Should I be  _presuming_  otherwise now, sir?” 

 

“Regretting,” Silver repeats, and he looks down at the papers like he’s reading them again as James huffs out a small laugh. He looks out the window, at the gray blurs of the city, interspersed with the occasional bright yellow or red of a passing light. 

 

Two minutes later, Silver closes the file, and James turns his head back, trying to hide the amused look on his face. “Max told me of the rumors between you and the Hamiltons,” Silver says, looking like he’s spent the past time gathering his words instead of reading whatever was in front of him. “She, it seems, had her own suspicions about your relationship with them."

 

James hesitates. “She spoke with me,” he says. “I suppose I’m not surprised she heard the rumors. She was concerned that I might be meddling with your affairs.” 

 

The word choice is unintentional, though he thinks that might be the cause of the ghost-like flicker of a smile on Silver’s face for the briefest moment. “My affairs? What, is she seriously concerned that you’re about to influence me?"

 

“I didn’t ask,” James says. He intends it lightly, but the words sink between them. “I suppose she was worried about the past repeating itself.” 

 

“The past,” Silver says. “My predecessor’s shadow follows me.”

 

“He cast a large one,” James says, and for once, thinking about those days of Thomas in the White House doesn’t hurt quite as much as he thinks about it. 

 

Silver studies him. “I’m not surprised.” 

 

“He had plans for everything,” James says, “And he’d tell anyone who cared to ask exactly what he thought.”

 

“I find that once I tell my intentions, there are always those who try to strike them down,” Silver says. “Like Rogers and Dufresne now - I want to make the processes here more visible, hold those accountable even as someone replaces me.”

 

“I think you’ll find that there is always resistance to such change."

 

“But that’s it, isn’t it? Try to find some meaning in the shadows, beyond the claim of the monsters who lurk around the corners of the hallways, and yet I know as soon as I try to make any solid resolution, I’ll be dragged back into them.” 

 

“Perhaps the shadows are there to hide what must be done,” James says, and that feeling in his chest, something under his ribs, yawns just a little wider for a moment, as he thinks about tabloid titles, the graffiti on the side of the building of Miranda’s charity foundation, the whispers. “You said yourself you wanted to make a change. Real change, there’s always some price.”

 

“Madi thinks that the change can be done. I believe in her, and I’d pay what demands, for what we see for the world,” Silver says. “Sometimes, I - “ he cuts himself off, with a small sort of bemused smile. “She should be the President. If we lived in a world where those who decided these things had any sense in their head, she’d be where she deserves, and I’d be the one people would expect to be picking out china patterns.” 

 

“No one would trust your terrible taste, sir,” James says, and Silver lets out the sort of laugh that catches both of them off guard. 

 

Silver moves his leg, and his knee presses up against James’s ever so slightly, though it could be explained from a small bump in the road. “You haven’t answered my question.”

 

“About?”

 

“Influence,” Silver says. “Max’s worries. Do you think you influenced the Hamilton presidency?” 

 

James toys with a thread that’s a little loose on his sleeve - he’ll have to fix it, once he’s off the shift. “Thomas asked me what I thought of his policies. He asked as a confidant, as - a friend, even before we were together. Not as any sort of official advisor."

 

“Do you think I’m asking that of you?” 

 

“What are you asking?” 

 

“Do you think you’re going to get into my head like Max does?” 

 

“I think no one’s been able to convince you of anything,” James tells him. He expects Silver to laugh again, but an odd look appears in his eyes, like James has said something far different. “What is it?” 

 

“Nothing,” Silver says, and just like that, the look is gone again. “Maybe you should’ve been the President.”

 

James snorts. “I wouldn’t want that.” 

 

“I’m not sure it’s ever the desired position,” Silver says. Then he says, “Whatever it is you’re considering, it looks like it’s eating away at you. You should know that if you want to get it out, you’ll have at least one ear who'll be listening.” 

 

James looks at him, for a long time. There’s some unspoken words on his tongue, something he’s weighing - when the car slows down, and then he puts back on his mask, ready to escort the president back into the White House. 

 

 

•••

 

 

Because that’s what keeps him up at night, isn’t it?

 

After the funeral, over a greying plastic phone, Thomas tells him,  _It wasn’t your fault_ , even though -

 

He wasn’t in the car when the accident happened. He wasn’t supposed to have been. He couldn’t have stopped Miranda from getting killed. He couldn’t have done anything if he was there, at that moment. 

 

But before? As Thomas proposed riskier maneuvers, one that put him at ire with his father - the ones that he had told James about, that James had supported him in?

 

In the quiet early hours of the morning, when both of them had risked it all to spend a few hours in bed together, curled up under sheets and each other’s arms - Thomas had breathed into his hair,  _I’m afraid they’ll come after me_. 

 

When James was his friend, he would have told him to heed the warning. He would have taken into account Miranda’s warning, that Alfred Hamilton was a man none of them should forget about, that the game they were playing could have consequences - far beyond any scandal emerging. He could have seen clearly, beyond the accident, that this would lead to ruin. He should have seen that it could be used against them, and in the end, it was. 

 

But James as his lover - James had turned to kiss Thomas’s temple. James had told him that he would protect him, protect them, and he had believed it. He had believed that he should shield Thomas from the world, as Thomas tried to coax his vision into being, and it was James’s fault that they ended up this way, that he didn’t see what happened in the end, falling over the cliff before he could have even felt the edge. 

 

In the darker hours, James thinks about what everyone else must have experienced. What they saw as the news broke, the explanation of Thomas’s injuries blaring on the television every minute, questions on succession and legal precedent and the actions of the new acting President. 

 

He remembers the afternoon press conference when Thomas had told the press that he would be stepping down. James had watched from a shitty hotel room, the grainy television image not enough to hide Thomas’s red-rimmed eyes or halting speech. After, he had thrown his fist through the wall. 

 

He couldn’t have stopped the accident - but what happened next, that was his fault. It’s like knife twisting deep inside him, guilt and anger and grief that he had been the cause of it all, and then something inside him that  _burns_ at the thought that they weren’t allowed to have what it was, that they were allowed to experience that sort of love, and then it was cruelly ripped away. 

 

He knows Silver sees that, that he sees through the shuttered demeanor, the way that James holds himself and keeps himself in check. Silver  _terrifies_ him in how he can see right through James, through what he keeps hidden. James thinks won’t let him get close, but Silver has dug himself into some place that he thought was like a graveyard until now, blooming under the dirt and breaking through, seeing the anger that’s crawled deep inside his bones and not turning his face away. 

 

In Madi, James thinks he sees himself, before everything that happened. That she is like him, bright and furious and  _young_  - not that she isn’t wise, because he knows she’s seen things in her time and she’s had to fight to get to where she is, but she’s not weary deep down in the same way he feels most mornings. She’s vibrant, burning bright. Madi drew Silver to her because of this, he suspects, or perhaps Silver is the one who saw that light and knew that he could offer the flames something better. 

 

Silver’s got a different sort of fire in him, one that James sees, and he’s grown to know. By looking in, he’s managed to bare himself to Silver in return, letting the light hit those places, that guilt, all of the feelings that have been crouched inside him for so long. 

 

He thought that telling Silver about Thomas would relieve some of the weight that’s seemed to exist between them, but instead, whatever it is seems to grow. They don’t talk about it, but they both sense its presence, its mutually decided place somewhere between them. 

 

He turns over in his head, some nights, how the two of them somehow managed to get into a seat of power beyond most capabilities. James thinks that there might as well be something supernatural about it. Madi stands proud and tall, and she offers a future to those who are brave enough to take it. Silver speaks, and people listen - they go over themselves to listen to his words, as he convinces them to no end, despite whatever exists outside of that space.

 

At first, he couldn’t look at Silver without thinking of Thomas. But the longer that James is on Silver’s detail, the more time he spends trailing behind him, at his side, the more he recognizes the differences. Silver is harder than Thomas, evasive and compelling both in a way that both puts James on edge and draws him in. Thomas never broke the law to get what he wanted to be done, never plotted and schemed in the way that James sees now with them.

 

Jame then might have turned away from these activities. James then would have thought there was some other way. 

 

James now - he sees what the world does to those who try to change it. 

 

He follows Silver around as he shakes the hands of men who hold unspeakable sway and power, makes decisions behind closed doors. He’s there when Madi and Silver crawl out onto one of the closed-off balconies with a pack of smokes between them. He’s there when they bend their heads together as they talk, smoke drifting between their mouths as they share each cigarette, as James stands on the other side of the window, occasionally speaking to them because that's also developed - they  _ask_ him things, like he's moved beyond a stone wall, like how they've seen over the other side. 

 

The irony in trying to build a better world on the evils of the past, cloaked in such secrecy, isn’t lost on any of them he thinks. James does his job, he’s there when Madi and Silver decide their futures, decide what to do. He’s close. 

 

He sees it all - and he can only wonder where it will lead. 

 

 

•••

 

 

In the Oval Office, they watch as Rogers’s face appears on television, smooth and self-assured. “I am unsure of the qualifications President Silver is proposing,” he says, “And as the Senate Majority Leader, it is my task to step in and disavow his attempts to injure American democracy by proposing this bill - “ 

 

“He can’t be serious with this,” one of Silver’s advisors says, “He just doesn’t want anyone to know who’s lining his pockets."

 

There’s a hush, then, as Madi’s picture goes onto the screen, then older images of her at some protest, young and furious as her mouth opens in some silent shout, “ - with connections to radical activities, even the First Lady does not hold the values that such a person in that position should ever be associated with - “

 

“Fuck  _that_ ,” Silver says, but Madi puts a hand on his arm, silencing him. 

 

They continue to watch.

 

“ - and now he’s proposing to undermine national security, the programs that allow us to make the best decisions for their constitutions?” Rogers shakes his head ever so slightly. “So, no, I do not approve of the plan that President Silver has presented, to defund our national security programs in some witch hunt, and I urge my fellow lawmakers to vote against this."

 

James watches as Madi looks at Silver, sees the curl of his fingers at his sides as he stares at Rogers still talking on the screen. Eventually, she picks up the remote, turns it off. 

 

“Everyone,” Silver says, his eyes now flickering over to her, everyone silent all around them, “Give us the room.” 

 

The room clears out, except for the President and the First Lady. James heads to the door, but he stops, standing in front of it, facing them. On the other side, he can hear the shifting sounds of the agents stationed out there, but he knows that they won’t hear what goes on in here.  

 

Across the room, Madi leans on the desk, crossing her arms in front of her.  “He’s good. But we knew this would happen. We knew that he would generate that push back."

 

Silver turns his head away from her, his jaw pulsing. James says, “Men like him will always resist this. We just need to keep our heads above the water, just for a while - “

 

"Treading water is the same as drowning in this,” Silver tells him, and James stills. “I’m not going to _settle_ , not when what they’re asking for me to forget what I’ve promised. I’m not going to _back down_.”

 

“Like we’ve never compromised on anything,” Madi says, and she holds Silver’s eye when he looks at her. “John. I’ll go speak to Max, make sure we start ahead of this. You’ll start arranging the negotiations.”

 

“Negotiations?”

 

“If Rogers is going to use his influence to stop us, we’re going to have to use some of ours,” Madi says, and there’s a grim set to her mouth. “I’ll call my mother.”

 

“Madi,” Silver says, and there’s something in his tone that makes James look over to him. “You can’t think we’ll resort to that yet - “

 

“We’ve started the battle,” Madi tells him. “This is how we’ll get through this.”

 

“If word gets out that you’re talking to - “

 

“Then we’ll make sure it won’t,” Madi says, pushing off the desk and crossing the room. “I’ll be back late tonight.”

 

“Ma’am,” James says, opening the door for her, as she leaves.

 

Now that it’s just the two of them, Silver looks like he’s about to sag as he goes, sits on one of the long cream couches. His jacket’s still lying on the back of one of them, as he runs a hand through his hair. “I had hoped to have more time before his rebuttal.”

 

“Your speech last week was good,” James says, and he crosses the room to stand behind the couch opposite of him. “You’ve convinced some in the party.”

 

“But was it good enough?” Silver leans his head back, his eyes trained upon the seal that’s centered the ceiling.

 

“It’s done now,” James says. “I’m…. not familiar with your mother in law, but should I ask?”

 

Silver lets out a long exhale, the kind that makes him think of a wind whistling over the edge of a cliff. “I don’t know how much you know about Madi’s mother, but she’s not my biggest fan.”

 

“I’d gathered.”

 

“She was an influential congresswoman from Texas,” Silver says, still looking up at the ceiling. “An intelligent woman, known and respected for keeping her community’s best interests at mind - a rare trait for anyone in Washington.”

 

“I’m not familiar with her,” James admits with a moment. “Is she still in office?”

 

“She stepped down five years ago,” Silver says. “Shortly after a politician married her daughter. Her daughter she had groomed for political office for years. She had expected to have her take her seat, a natural successor for her policies, not move to Ohio."

 

“Oh,” James says, then, diplomatically, “I presume that’s a source of tension.”

 

Silver’s eyes flick down to him. “It’s not like I kidnapped her away or something,” he says. “Her mother had a vision for her future, and Madi - well, I’m sure you know just as well as I do that no one _makes_ Madi do anything, neither I nor her mother.”

 

“And now you’re not welcome in certain districts of Texas?”

 

Silver sits more up. “Madi knew who I was going to be from the first night we met,” he says, elbows going onto his knees, “She knew of my ambition before I did, and she saw that together, we could achieve greatness.” He lets out a huff. "We married so quickly, everyone thought that it was a shotgun situation.”

 

James shifts his weight. “And Madi’s going to her mother now - ?”

 

“Because the man who took Madi’s place is still very much under Former Congresswoman Scott’s influence,” Silver finishes. “She may be retired, but she has a voice that will be able to convince others in this new fight to vote my direction. What’s more, she knows what others want, what I can offer them.”

 

“You need to be bringing people here,” James says, “Well before the vote. Rogers will no doubt try to get to those he thinks he can convince.”

 

Silver moves forward on the couch as if about to get up. “I’ll get Philpott in here,” he muses, “Before Rogers can get to him, he’s an obvious pick. Then right after, I’m thinking - “

 

There are thudding footsteps right outside, too hurried to be normal. James instinctively turns to the door, moving so that he’s in between the door and the President.

 

He’s reaching for his service gun when the door flies open.  Eme strides in, looking right at James. “Mr. President, a situation has come up,” she says, the faintest line of stress on her forehead as she stares with at him, “We’re going under quarantine.”

 

“What is it?” James asks her, his mind already running two steps ahead as he takes stock of this. 

 

From behind him, Silver utters, “ _Quarantine_ \- “

 

"An unidentified powder delivered to the reception area,” Eme says. “It was opened and contaminated part of the area. No casualties at this time, but - "

 

“Crane protocol,” James orders her, not taking his hand off the gun, “Take the third quadrant, complete shutdown. Tell Billy I want a line set up in here, then get out yourself.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Eme says, and she leaves quickly. James hears the door click shut, but he also strides forward, making sure the heavy bar over the door is secured.

 

“What the fuck did she mean, _quarantine_?” Silver says, getting up. He’s behind James before he knows it, eyes boring into him. “Madi - “

 

“I’ll ask about her as soon as I get communications up,” James promises, going by him to the windows. They’re reinforced bulletproof glass, but he pulls the blinds down anyways. “Sir, please go to the center of the room.”

 

"Flint - " 

 

"Silver," James repeats. "Let me do my job." 

 

Silver complies, crossing his arms tightly as he watches James check the window frames, close the vents. If they’re looking at some sort of biological attack, this room isn’t ideal to be sealed in - but he’ll make it work. “I need to be calling people, not trapped in here.“

 

“The phone lines will have already been disconnected,” James tells him, tying down the last blind. They’ll put plastic on the other side of the door, as they secure the area from both sides. “I’m sorry, but this is protocol.”

 

“Damn it,” Silver mutters. Even with the reduced light, James can see his eyes flick from side to side. “Of all the times - “

 

 

•••

 

 

Half an hour in, James is standing in front of the door, back to Silver still. Silver’s gone back to sitting on the couch, but the last time James had glanced back at him, his shoulders were tight with tension, as he spun his wedding ring around his finger, brow furrowed as he stared across the room.

 

“Mr. President.” A voice, one of the first responders, filters in from the other side of the door.  “Agent Flint. The quarantine is still in place, but the First Lady has been secured on her previous route, confirmed by Agent Bonny.”

 

“She made out of the building?” Silver asks from behind him. James repeats the question. 

 

“Affirmative,” he says, and James can hear Silver exhale loudly, sounding relieved. “We’re still waiting on lab results.”

 

“How much longer are we going to be in here?”

 

“Until we can verify the package contents,” the man says. “We’re collecting samples now. We were unable to set up a line, but we're going as quickly as we can, Mr. President.”

 

James turns around to Silver as the man leaves them once again. “If the first lab results come back negative for anthrax, they’ll be able to get you through.”

 

"And how long until that?" 

 

When James doesn't immediately answer, “God _damn_ it,” Silver repeats, viciously.

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

“This happened once before,” Silver says. “When I was campaigning.” 

 

James looks over at him. Silver’s in the middle of the room still, but he’s elected to sit on the ground, legs sprawled out on the carpet in front, the opposite of where James is seated. He’s discarded his red tie over the couch arm, the edge of which is barely brushing the hardwood floor to the side. “Oh?”

 

“Mysterious package, filled with metal bits, right to the funding office,” Silver says. “Cleared out the building, bomb squad was called in. Turned out to be car parts and a letter. Not sure if that was any comfort, to be quite honest.”

 

“All the people out there are working to make sure both you and the First Lady remain safe,” James says, “Myself included. You don’t need to worry - “

 

“I’m more worried about what’s happening out there while I’m trapped,” Silver says, curt. “Rogers is no doubt using this as a platform to push against me - _oh_ , the President _doesn’t_ want to defund security, not when it _applies to him_ \- “

 

“He’d be a fool to say that,” James informs him. “The public can generally agree that assassinations don’t look very good, nor bring morale.”

 

Silver sighs. “I hate this,” he says. “But at least you’re here with me.”

 

“Of course."

 

“I mean it,” Silver says, and holds his eye. “End of the day, I can’t think of anyone else I’d want here."

 

James doesn’t know what to say to that. “I think you’ve forgotten what my occupation is,” he says, attempting for brevity given that Silver’s fingers haven’t stopped moving around his ring at this point. “I’d hope you would want that.” 

 

“That’s not what - “ Silver cuts himself off. “If it is anthrax - “ 

 

“We don’t know that.” 

 

“What do you do?” 

 

“Make sure you’re contained in here, and the room is sealed off,” James says. “The area is shut down, and I’d follow protocol.” 

 

“What happens to you?” 

 

“It doesn’t matter what happens to me,” James says, resisting the urge to squint at him. “You’ll be safe. Madi is safe - “ 

 

It’s quiet, nearly so that James thinks - he _must_ not have heard correctly - when Silver says, “I wonder who’s supposed to keep you safe.” 

 

They listen to the faint footsteps as agents and first responders move around somewhere outside, the heavy drag of machinery. Silver clutches his fist the longer they sit there in silence. James watches as the skin around his knuckles goes white before he releases it, and the blood starts to be drawn back. 

 

 

•••

 

 

The radio in James’s ear crackles after three hours. “The phone line is still down,” Eme’s voice says, “But we have been cleared for this.” 

 

“I need to talk to Madi,” Silver says, coming over to stand right next to James. He looks right into James’s eyes. “Please.”

 

James presses the button. “Eme, can I get a line through to Windmill?” He watches as Silver mouths _windmill_ silently.

 

There’s a moment of silence, then Madi’s voice is coming through, clear and loud. “James. May I speak to my husband?”

 

James unhooks the radio. “Ma’am, I’m patching him through,” he says, and he hands the radio to Silver. Silver’s fingers drag over the side of his hand as he takes it, and James says, “You’re going to hold down that button to speak - “ 

 

As Silver talks to Madi, James looks at the bookshelves on the side. Like most of the other rooms in the White House, they’ve been influenced by the First Lady - James is sure that even Thomas didn’t have this range of novels at easy grasp when he was working in here. The Hamiltons had an extensive library that they kept in their old home, far away from D.C.

 

James glances back to Silver, who’s facing away from him, saying something into the mic. He turns back to the books, and he lets his finger drag on the gilded edge of a copy of a Yeats collection.

 

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

 

“Yeats? How terribly maudlin,” Thomas says. His lips brush the shell of James’s ear, standing behind the plush chair. "You're lucky I love you enough to put up with these tastes of yours." 

 

“I like it,” James tells him, and when Thomas dips down to press a teasing kiss under his ear, he adds, “Don’t you have something to be doing, I don’t know, like a _major speech_ \- “

 

“Read me something, and I’ll be good,” Thomas promises, and James can never resist when he looks at him like that. “Please?” 

 

He picks the book back up, focuses on a random page. " _A mermaid found a swimming lad, picked him for her own,"_ James reads, feels Thomas’s breath on his jaw. " _Pressed her body to his body, Laughed; and plunging down_ , _forgot in cruel happiness_ , t _hat even lovers drown."_

 

Thomas is quiet for a moment, and then he leans more forward, kisses James again, softly. 

 

 

 

 

•••

 

 

James puts the book back down. Across the room, Silver turns his head so that he looks at him, and James holds eye contact until Silver starts to speak to Madi once again, and he looks away. 

 

When Silver's done, he hands the radio back to him. "She did get in contact with her mother before they took her in," Silver says, "So at least there's that." 

 

"Good." 

 

"This helplessness," Silver starts, then stops. "Sometimes, I want to burn this room to the ground." 

 

James nods, once. He has no words to bring any sort of comfort. They'll just have to wait. 

 

 

 

•••

 

 

After five hours, they’re finally let out of the room. It’s nearly anticlimactic, James waiting as they cut down the plastic on the other side, escorting Silver out of the room. 

 

Even before they’re outside, James can tell that the sun has started to set, the orange glow becoming more muted with every passing minute where it comes in from the windows in the Oval Office.  There are three other agents, who join James and the President as they escort him to the briefing room. There, James can see the hazmat-suited responders, holding masks in their hands, as they appear to start packing their equipment away. 

 

“All tests came back negative, sir,” one of them says, and Silver nods. “We’re going to need to run some more tests, so we will escort you and the First Lady to a safe house.”

 

“All right,” Silver says, and his eyes fix on something past them. Madi’s coming in, and the agents clear out of her way as she moves quickly, looking frustrated until she sees her husband. 

 

She hurries across, and James steps back a little as she throws her arms around Silver. “It’s all right,” James hears him say, as they hold onto each other, Silver’s fingers digging into her back. “We’re fine - “

 

Hennessey’s there, along with the other agents. James straightens up as he approaches. “I’m taking you off the next shift, Agent Flint,”  Hennessey says. “You’ll need to be tested for any contamination before you can go home.” 

 

“Sir, I was not exposed,” James says, “I can continue - “ but before Hennessey can respond, Madi clears her throat. 

 

“James,” Madi requests, having released Silver, both of them standing there, looking at him, “Will you be at the safe house tonight?”

 

Hennessey says, “Ma’am, we can assign other agents while Agent Flint - “

 

“With all due respect, Admiral, we would prefer James to be there, as he is most familiar with our routine,” Madi says, then she looks at him. “James, is this acceptable?” From behind her, Silver merely looks at them, his gaze unreadable. 

 

When James looks at the admiral, the man tilts his head. “It’s your decision, agent,” he says finally, and there’s something heavy in his eyes that he chooses not to read into. 

 

“I’m suited for another shift, sir,” James tells the admiral, then looks at Madi. “I’ll be there shortly, ma’am.”

 

 

 

•••

 

 

The safe house is not far away in D.C. As James pulls up in the car, nodding to the agents positioned outside, he thinks it reminds him of some fable-like cottage despite its size, with the green ivy that climbs up one of the walls, the tall windows on the first floor. It looks deceptively open, considering the entire block is on secret lockdown, the residents likely kept in the dark about the occupants now, not to mention the state-of-the-art security features. 

 

James shows his identification to the agents on duty, wait as they confirm that he’s working the shift. He doesn’t relieve any of them, though - they’re all on full watch, with every agent called in who could work on short notice, as they secure the White House once again, and so his presence likely doesn't come to much surprise. 

 

He knows the news stations and other media will have been turned off inside, so he’s unsure of what he’ll be walking into as he steps into the house. He’s not sure Silver and Madi have ever been taken off the grid like this. 

 

He’s the only agent inside, and in the distance, he can hear voices, one he recognizes as Silver’s as he approaches. “ - make this call,” he hears Silver say. “It’s bad enough - “ 

 

“James,” Madi says then, evidently having heard his footsteps. James rounds the corner of the kitchen, sees the two of them standing there. Silver’s still in his wrinkled dress shirt and dark slacks, but Madi’s changed into a soft-looking robe that trails down to her calves, both of them turned to look at his entrance. 

 

Between that, and Silver’s rolled sleeves that are exposing the pale skin of his forearms as he leans against the kitchen island, James stops on the other side. “Sir, ma’am,” he says, eyes instinctively looking out the window, to the cloistered backyard with the spotlights. “I wanted to let you both know I was here.”

 

“You’ve caught me at a moment,” Silver says, and he puts a hand on the side of his neck, rubbing it. “I have to go call Max, try to get this day back.” He glances back on Madi. “The ’92, when I get back?”

 

“You read my mind,” Madi says. Silver gives a half-smile to James, still with that tense line to his shoulders that hasn’t quite left since they were trapped in the Oval Office, before he turns on his heel, walks into the dark dining room. 

 

James can feel his footsteps as they echo away. He thinks that even when Silver’s left a room, there’s still traces of him in the air, left behind like a smudge on a window, his presence too strong to be so easily removed from memory, something that still crackles in his absence.

 

He turns back to see Madi rising on the tips of her toes, retrieving two wine glasses from the cabinet. James clears his throat. “I can - “ 

 

“Every time someone tries to kill one of us, we pick a bottle from the vintages collection,” Madi says, and he stops. She sets the glasses down on the counter. There’s something her eyes, a little distant. James supposes that given the events of today, she deserves that and more. “The 92’s an interesting choice. The wine’s not here now, of course, but we can drink something else in the meantime.” 

 

She goes by him, peering at the cellar off the kitchen. “There are some… decent bottles here, ones that will do fine.” 

 

James dips his head a little as she heads back, picking up the glasses. He can see as one of them wobbles as she tries to grip onto the stems with one hand, and he steps forward. But before he can offer assistance again, the glass slips right through her fingers. 

 

The glass shatters on the ground, the glass catching the light as it flies all over the white tile floor. Madi blows out a frustrated breath. “Oh, damn it!"

 

“Are you all right?” James asks instantly, hands flexing uselessly on the other side of the kitchen island as he glances down at the floor. “Let me.“ 

 

“It’s just some glass,” Madi says, as she squats down, a line between her eyebrows. “I’ll pick this up - “ 

 

“Please, ma’am, you’re  _barefoot_ ,” James urges, as he rounds the island, joining her on the ground. “I can clean this up - "

 

His fingers are a little unwieldy, and he feels a sharp pain as one piece slides down, cutting his palm. James bites back a curse, but the noise alerts her anyway.

 

“Your hand,” Madi says, “Are you all right?” 

 

He holds it up to the light, studying the pinpricks of red that have surfaced on his skin. “It’s all right, just a shallow cut,” James tells her, wincing a little as he flexes his fingers, hiding the damage from her, mostly. “Now, please, I don’t want you to be injured - “  

 

“Let me find a bandage,” Madi says, and she stands. As she carefully maneuvers out of the kitchen, James uses his good hand to carefully pick up the rest of the glass. Luckily, the glass had remained mostly in large, rounded pieces, as he puts the pieces in a small pile on the counter, making sure the floor is clear of any slivers. 

 

Madi returns, still barefoot, but with a towel. “Leave the glass, before you cut yourself more,” she says, and he rises.  “Your hand,” Madi orders, wielding the towel. 

 

His hand is still bleeding when he unfolds his fingers, the blood pooling a little in the lines.  “It’s fine, really - “

 

“James,” Madi repeats, and she takes his hand in hers, James watches as she carefully dabs at the edge of the blood, the white fabric stained with each pass. James watches as she makes a displeased expression. “It’s deep.” 

 

“I’ve had worse,” he says, and Madi looks at him. “When I was in the Navy, I managed to slip on a deck during my second week of training. Cut my eyebrow open, ended up with far more blood than this.”

 

“You can barely see a mark,” Madi says, looking above where he gestures, and James feels something tingle under his skin like she’s touching it. “Did it look worse?” 

 

“My friend at the time, he suggested I get an eyepatch and get it over with,” James recalls, and Madi lets out an amused sound.

 

She dabs more at the towel. “I can’t seem to find the bandages, but hold that there,” Madi says, and as he obeys, she walks around him. “For being injured in my honor, you are awarded one of these glasses now. We’ll open one of those bottles in your honor.” 

 

James says, “I can’t drink on the job - "

 

“But you’re not technically on the job,” Madi points out, fetching another glass as he squeezes the fabric on his hand. “Hennessey added you to the list on my request, mostly because I think that John needs someone to help him get out of his head, and I prefer not to drink alone."

 

He’s silent for long enough so that Madi turns back to look at him, her eyebrow raised. Finally, James says, “Did you see any bourbon in there?” 

 

Madi just smiles. 

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

They’re each on their second glass. Madi doesn’t seem to mind the long stretches of comfortable silence, nor does James, so they drink and exchange words at a leisurely pace, sitting at the kitchen island.

 

The bourbon is smooth and smoky on his tongue, and James relishes the slight burn, the way that the amber liquid catches the light in the heavy glasses. The throb is in his hand is more and more forgotten the longer he sits there, as he feels the smooth marble of the counter under his elbow. 

 

Madi’s telling him about an ill-fated baseball game a few years back when Silver had been the honorary first pitcher. “John stands there, so serious, as everyone’s cheering for him,” she says, “And he aims, to throw the ball - “ 

 

“I can tell where this is going,” James says, raising the glass to lips. “Oh god, tell me he didn’t -  "

 

“ - and it slips from his fingers, going straight up in the air,” Madi finishes, gleeful. “Just - right up!"

 

James splutters some of the bourbon as he laughs. Madi’s own laughter reaches his ears, as she says, “I don’t know how he managed to walk off that field, going that _red_ \- “ 

 

He wipes his mouth just a little with his thumb, chuckling at the image. “I can imagine that didn’t sit well with his pride.”

 

“He made me promise to never bring it up,” Madi says, merry little lines still on the corner of her eyes. “I worry about him.” 

“I think his ego can take a lot more damage than that.” 

 

“If something were to happen to me,” Madi reveals, the tiniest smile on her mouth still, yet it's far too sad now, and the mood changes so quickly he’s not sure what happened in between. “I suppose I've been thinking about it all day, since the quarantine. Fearing the worst, despite trying not to."

 

She moves the bourbon around in her glass, as James stares at her hand around the glass. "We fell in love quickly. He was never close to anyone before me.” 

 

James had thought that with love came intimacy - that one had to grow close before something else entirely took over. In his case, he’s loved few, but it’s always come after growing close, dreams and aspirations shared, to join together. 

 

He’s known people to be intimate without love, or to love without ever growing close. But he thinks that given the look on Madi’s face as she looks down in her glass, that maybe men like Silver aren’t close to many at all, despite how much they might be loved - or who they love. He thinks it must be lonely. 

 

“It seems I’ve missed the party,” Silver says, from where he’s leaning on the doorway. James starts to stand up, hitting the table a little - and Silver waves his hand. “No, no, please, sit.” 

 

“Sir - " 

 

“Don’t sound so guilty, how about that,” Silver says with a small smirk, as he steps into the kitchen, and James slowly sits back down. “Any left for me?” 

 

“There is if you know where the first aid kit is,” Madi says, sliding the bottle closer to them. “James cut his hand on some of the glass.” 

 

Silver’s eyes land on James's hand, still on the table and wrapped in that towel. The bleeding’s likely stopped, but it doesn’t seem to stop the concerned look on Silver’s face as he takes another step to them. “Are you all right?” 

 

“It’s shallow,” James says. “We couldn’t find the kit.” 

 

Silver looks at him, blinks, and then turns his head. “I think - “ He goes over to one of the cabinets, opens the one to the far left. “Ah - here we go."

 

“How did you know where _that_ was?” Madi asks him, sounding incredulous. 

 

“I pay attention,” Silver says, fishing out the kit. “Also, a lucky guess. Agent Flint, will you drink more bourbon if I mend you, or will you run off into the night like you feel you’ve committed some crime by having fun?” 

 

“I’m off the clock,” James tells him, and he’s rewarded by that slow smile on Silver’s face - or perhaps punished, as he puts his hand on the island. “I hope you’re not squeamish.” 

 

Silver lets out a small huff when he sees the cut. “I thought you said it was _shallow_ ,” he says, as he goes back. He takes the seat to James’s right, nodding at his hand. “Let’s see that, then.”

 

James watches Silver’s brow furrow as he delicately picks out a tiny piece of glass that neither Madi nor James saw. It doesn’t hurt, not when the endorphins and bourbon have dulled that sensation, but that doesn’t mean that he can’t feel every drag of Silver’s fingers against his skin, holding the skin taut as he wipes at the cut. He’s less gentle than Madi about it but no less thorough, his hand warm against James’s. 

 

Behind him, he can hear Madi pours another drink, take a small sip, the small, appreciate hum she makes at the taste. Silver glances up at James, who hadn’t realized he was staring. “How do you review my medical skills?"

 

“Outstanding,” James says, then, because maybe he’s a little drunk and he’s watching Silver bite into his lip as he concentrates on cleaning the blood from James’s hand, he adds, “But it has nothing on your pitching skills.” 

 

Silver’s head snaps up, eyes wide, and then he looks over James’s shoulder at Madi. “You _told him_?” 

 

“It’s a good story,” Madi says, sipping her bourbon. “It was the Reds game, right? I couldn't remember from before.” 

 

“Unfortunately,” Silver mutters, and James can’t contain his laugh, then wince when Silver prods a little too hard as he starts to wrap his hand in a bandage. “Horrible game. I hate baseball.” 

 

“Were you born in Ohio?” James asks, and Silver looks up at him again. “I - realize. I don’t know.” 

 

Silver blinks at him, slow, then something twists the corner of his mouth up. “Agent Flint, are you asking personal questions? I’m surprised of you.” 

 

“I can just look it up,” James mutters to himself, and he starts to pull his hand away. 

 

“I’m not done with you yet,” Silver says, though, and he tugs at James’s hand, bringing it close to him once again. He misjudges the force, though, or perhaps James’s loose-feeling limbs, or his reluctance to be far away from Silver at all, and James’s knuckles brush against the buttons on the front of his shirt. He thinks for a moment he can feel the solid weight of Silver’s chest, before Silver says, nearly to himself, “I was.” 

 

Behind him, Madi has gone quiet. Silver continues, “I wasn’t raised there, though.” He smoothes the edge of the bandage over James’s wrist, making sure it’s secure as he speaks. “Did Madi tell you about the time she was locked out of our campaign headquarters, back before I was even in Congress?”

 

Madi scoffs. “You can’t distract him with that story,” she says. “I lost my keys _once_.” 

 

Silver is done with James’s hand, but he hasn’t let go, and so James doesn’t pull his hand back.  He thinks the alcohol might have made him a little hazy, only then he feels Silver’s fingers curling along his wrist bone, migrating up the edge of his covered palm until the tips find skin. The warmth of his fingers is surprising, and his mind feels clear as he catalogs the feeling of Silver’s hand holding his, watching as Silver’s fingers curl around his forearm, ever so slightly.

 

Then James realizes what he’s doing - rather, what he’s not doing. He pulls his hand back carefully. The cut on his hand doesn’t hurt at all anymore, as he runs a hand over the seam. “It’s good work,” he says. He doesn’t feel drunk, not now, as he looks back at Silver. “Thank you.” 

 

He finds that Silver’s already looking back at him. Silver hasn’t had anything to drink, so it’s perplexing even more when Silver’s other hand, that had been holding the bandage fastener, reaches out, and touches the back of James’s hand, his blue eyes just - watching. Nearly hesitant, which would make James laugh because he’s not sure Silver has ever been caught in between, never unsure of his next move. That feeling is back, like lightning about to strike right there in the high ceilings of the kitchen, something tensing between them, nearly like their first meeting - but not. 

 

James looks down, and he watches as Silver’s fingers now flatten out, pushing up his sleeve. They find the edge of his watch, the slightly tarnished silver. “This is nice,” he says, as James swallows. “A gift?” 

 

James looks at the width of his fingers, the veins on the back of his hand. “It was from Miranda,” he replies, and he would think the name would break this moment between them, only then Silver’s hand goes higher, featherlight touch on the side of his forearm, and he realizes that the ghost, the misery, is chased away in part by the feeling of something alive. 

 

James looks back up at him, sees Silver hasn’t moved his eyes. He opens his mouth as if to say something, then stops. Silver swallows, and James can see the movement of his throat.

 

James doesn’t realize what he’s doing as he leans forward, almost all the way. His nose brushes against Silver’s, and although he can’t see his eyes still from this close, he takes a deep, shuddering breath in, and then Silver kisses him.

 

They’re both nearly too hesitant, barely moving like they’re both tempting fate, as Silver takes a sharp inhale, and James exhales for him. Silver leans forward a little more, his hand still on James’s arm, and then their mouths are closer, and James can nearly taste the curl of his tongue, wants it with a searing intensity that burns down to his bones. 

 

He figures by this, there is no coming back, and he tilts his head. His mouth slips against Silver’s for one, heart-stopping second, and then Silver’s kissing him more, letting go of his hand to put his along the side of James’s face. He can feel Silver’s fingers digging into his hair, the sound that he makes low in his throat as he kisses back. James’s dangerously close to falling forward off his chair, but Silver’s weight is there in front of him as they get impossibly closer. His tongue is teasing as he drags it against his bottom lip, both of them now making that sound that makes all the hair on James’s arms rise, the more they tempt each other. 

 

He pulls back slightly, but not too much, unwilling to let any rational thought crowd the air in between them even for a moment. “This,” James says, right up against his mouth, “Is a bad idea.” 

 

Silver doesn’t move back. He says, “I’ve been known to have them.” 

 

He doesn’t move, though, doesn’t go to kiss James further, even though he can see the way that Silver’s eyes are dilated this close. James realizes it’s an out. A way for him to stand up and walk away. 

 

He thinks he should. He thinks he doesn’t know what he wants. 

 

While he’s considering all of this, though, he hears the sound of a glass being set down behind him. James freezes - he’s not sure there’s ever an explanation for _oh, I’m protecting your husband by kissing him at this moment_ \- but before he can move, he feels, rather than hears, Silver say, “You were right,” to his wife, who’s still _right behind James._

 

She hasn’t said anything while she watches this happen, and a small, possibly hysterical part of his brain wonders if it’s protocol to turn around and look her in the eye, with her husband’s hand still in his hair, his wedding ring cool against James's ear. 

 

There’s the sound of a chair dragging, and then James can feel her behind him, her presence just as strong as her husband’s. Madi doesn’t touch him, though, even though he watches as her hand comes from behind him, touches Silver’s knee right in front of him. 

 

“I usually am,” Madi says, her voice coming from right behind his ear. James shivers, as he watches Madi’s hand rise on Silver’s thigh, her thumb running along until it meets the seam of his slacks. James hears Silver suck in a breath, his hand dropping from James’s hair, tightening into a fist in the space between their chests, as she leaves her hand there, waiting. 

 

James would miss the contact, only Madi touches him, then, her hand softly placed on his elbow. It’s not an intentional touch, not the way Silver clutched onto him, even though James feels that same thing twisting inside him pulling even tighter, and he can feel his eyelids drop ever so slightly. She doesn’t say anything, though James can feel her eyes on the side of his face. 

 

It feels natural, as he turns his head, looking right at her. He makes his decision, he thinks, when he lifts his hand, puts his fingers on the back of her neck. 

 

Madi curves her neck, and she kisses off the side of his mouth, her mouth a little high, just as light as he’s touching her. Although they’re not touching as much, James can feel Silver’s heartbeat thudding under his palm, from where his hand has somehow made it to Silver’s side, holding him in, feeling the sturdy muscle of his side even through the shirt. 

 

They pull apart, and he turns his head back in time to see Madi lean forward, kiss her husband. Their kiss is slower but deeper than either of the ones that James has just had, as James watches as Madi licks into Silver’s mouth, Silver making a groaning sound as she touches him. It looks far more consuming, and James wants to watch them forever, he wants to be there, press himself in, offer himself, do _something -_

 

An eternity passes, or maybe a heartbeat until they separate. James is met with both of their eyes, both so singularity focused on him - and he thinks about when they’ve looked at him like this before, but it’s all different now, the anticipation that singes the edges of each passing moment. James’s hand is still on Silver, Madi plastered against his back, and they’re all measuring each touch, careful as though a single wrong move could make it all fall away. Which it could, he reasons, and he’s still waiting to wake up from some sort of fever dream, the only thing touching him being sweaty sheets tangled around his waist. 

 

Only no dream would capture the look that Silver’s giving him, the way his head’s turned a little to the side as he waits, his gaze far hotter than some fever. This time, James closes the distance, and his lips find Silver’s. This time, Silver’s mouth slides against his much more readily, a force that meets his with the sort of intensity he feels shaking him right through his teeth, crawling deep inside and meeting whatever it finds there like it’s been waiting all along. James’s hands wrap around the back of his neck, drawing him in, as Silver’s tongue finds its way inside James’s mouth, dragging ever so slightly against the roof of his mouth as they clutch onto each other. 

 

One of them breaks for air first, and James can tell his breathing is ragged from the way that each breath seems to make Silver sway closer and closer to him. He doesn’t quite remember how it happened, but now Silver’s shirt is unbuttoned more than halfway, showing the heave of his chest, the skin already glistening as he pants. 

 

He’s clued in when he sees Madi reach down, unbutton another one, as Silver lets her. “How do you want us?” Madi asks, her lips just grazing his earlobe. 

 

The _him,_ James realizes, is implicit, as once she’s satisfied with his shirt, Madi starts to stroke Silver through his trousers, making Silver inhale sharply, shifting under her hand. James is caught by the myriad of possibilities - some of them little more than split second, vivid images, Madi holding Silver down as James goes to his knees, both of them staying there as Madi climbs into Silver’s lap, Silver pressing him down to the ground.

 

But in a voice that would be incriminating to his own ears if he didn’t already feel the cool air on his wet mouth, James says, hoarse, “Your hands - “ and he’s looking right at Silver, sees that Silver looks about as undone as he feels. 

 

Madi’s hands trail down Silver’s legs, onto James’s knee. All she says is, “You heard him,” and Silver’s leaning forward, his hands going to James’s belt. 

 

They have to rearrange a bit, James turning to the side as Madi comes around in between the kitchen island and his side, her hand going to Silver’s hair.  He manages to get James’s belt undone, James lifting his hips a little to get closer as his fingers slide under the waistband, tugging down layers of fabric until James is hard and his cock is out of his trousers, and in Silver’s hand. 

 

His hand is too dry, and as they both come to the realization, Madi lifts his hand, licks his palm, wet and obscene and enough so that James can feel the breath flood out of his lungs, seeing her tongue peek out between the webbing at the base of Silver’s fingers. Silver makes a loud sound, the sort that makes Madi quirk her mouth, tell him, “Shh,” before Silver’s hand finds its way back to his cock, and James nearly bites his tongue at the sensation. 

 

Silver’s hand is loose and hot and not nearly enough, as James grits his teeth and resists the urge to thrust his hips up, hurrying the nearly leisurely pace. It’s not even that it looks like Silver is trying to stretch this out, not with the flush that’s building up his neck, the way his eyes are darting all over James’s face. 

 

James knows he looks desperate by now, as Silver twists his hand on the upstroke and he lets out a stuttered groan, one that makes Silver answer in kind, as he leans forward, attaching his mouth to Madi’s neck. Madi tugs at Silver's hair, a sort of gesture in which he knows that the force is measured, just enough born from experience to feel it, but not enough for any real damage. James is struck by how much he wants to do the same, run his hands through his hair. 

 

Then he realizes he can, so his uninjured hand joins hers as Silver squeezes him even tighter, fingers finding their way to the black curls, now running loose of the tie that’s fallen to the ground somewhere. Silver’s eyes slide until they’re nearly shut, a tiny bit of blue and black peeking out, as James’s thumb glides along his jaw, feeling every bump and the hint of stubble under his skin, feeling him for the first time, as Silver moans against Madi’s neck. Madi lets out a soft breath, then tugs Silver’s head back until she can kiss him again, sloppily and wet. James is caught between watching Silver’s hand working at him, the pace speeding up the longer he kisses her, and the noises coming from their mouths together, Silver’s eyes are squeezed shut like he’s the one with a hand on his cock. James must look ridiculous, sitting there with his trousers tugged down as he stares. But then Silver’s eyes open, and he sees James watching them. 

 

That’s finally enough for Silver’s grip to tighten, moving with renewed intensity, and it’s James’s turn to close his eyes, unable to concentrate between Madi’s hand squeezing his hip, Silver’s thumb rubbing over the head of his cock - 

 

“That’s it,” Silver says, and James’s eyes fly open, “God, look at you - come on,” and he leans forward, pressing his lips to James’s collarbone now. Madi’s hand dips lower, beneath his shirt, fingernails scratching up his ribs as Silver bites down lightly, before licking the indents his teeth make. James hears him mumble something against his skin, the vibration there strange and nearly enough to set him off like the words are going right through his skin. 

 

It’s when Madi goes, “He’s admiring your freckles,” like she knows that by now, James can’t hear more beyond the slick sound of Silver’s hand working him, the press of Madi’s breasts against his upper arm, the way she ducks her head to say right into his ear, “He’s going to want to lick all of them, trace his tongue everywhere as he fucks you like this, kiss you everywhere - “ 

 

James doesn’t realize how close he is until he’s already coming, unable to stop the upward movement of his hips into Silver’s hand. He’s chasing the sensation as his vision darkens around the edges, Silver works him through it, as James gasps, coming in long bursts as he seeks more and more and _more -_ until it’s too much, and he’s slumping back against the kitchen island. 

 

He comes back to his senses as he lifts his head, sees Madi now in front of him, tucked between them. He watches as Silver slides her robe down off her shoulders, revealing the curves of her bare back, his hands pale against her dark skin, as the material falls to the ground.

 

 James leans forward before he’s confident he’s gained enough brain ability to do so, presses a kiss right between her shoulder blades, right between where Silver’s fingers are lined up on either side of the indent of her spine. Madi shivers in response, as she guides Silver’s head down, the sound of him kissing her skin audible to James, even though he can’t quite see where. 

 

But Silver then stands suddenly, like he’s realized something, or he’s surprised. “Bed,” he says, and looks over Madi’s shoulder at James, “I need - both of you - “ 

 

Madi turns her head, raises an eyebrow at James. She’s giving him another out, but James thinks by now, they’re rather past that. 

 

He rises, still unsteady on his feet, pulling up his trousers a bit, despite the stickiness from where Silver must have wiped his hand on his skin. Silver’s eyes go between the two of them, and now that his mind starts to clear just a little - although he’s not sure it will ever, fully, not after that - James is absurdly grateful that he’s the only agent in the house right now. 

 

Not that he would be much use right now. As Silver takes Madi’s hand, both of them headed to the bedroom, James stops only to pick up Madi’s discarded robe off the tile, the material silky between his fingertips before hurrying after. 

 

He follows them up the stairs, a few steps behind. It’s like every other time he’s followed them, only now, every few steps, Silver’s glancing behind them, looking caught between rushing them all and waiting for him. It’s a surprisingly sweet gesture, one that makes something in James’s chest clutch but he pushes it down. That’s not to consider now, not when he can see the light catch Madi’s bare form as she disappears into one of the rooms, Silver finally peeling off his shirt and discarding it in the doorway as he follows. 

 

James takes a deep breath, and he steps into the dim room. He thinks about finding a light switch, to better see them other than the small lamp on the side table that’s currently the only source of illumination, but then Madi’s sprawled out on the bed, the light making the skin just below her breasts gleam. 

 

Silver’s over her, kissing her, his own trousers rucked down by Madi’s eager hands until they’re slipping off the bed, off of him, and they’re both bare. James is caught by the dimples at the base of Silver’s spine, the way that Madi’s leg effortlessly hooks around Silver’s, pulling him closer. They look like some marble sculpture like this, carved out of the same material and fitted so closely in a way that looks like they’ll withstand all of time, the way they're twisted together. It makes his mouth go dry, his feet rooted in place. 

 

He doesn’t realize he’s staring, not until Silver breaks away from where he’s kissing along Madi’s jaw to look at him. “Unless you’re planning on wearing that,” Silver says, nodding down to the robe, “Agent Flint, do get over here, this instant.” Beside him, Madi’s expression includes a flicker of interest at her husband's words - which, he’ll have to consider, but maybe not when he still feels like he’s burning up even though he’s just come. 

 

The use of his title should make him cringe, roll his eyes at the least, but instead, James drops the robe, letting the material glide out of his hands. He toes off his shoes, too, then his trousers, finally fully off, as Silver mouths his way down Madi’s sternum, down to her abdomen. 

 

James goes behind him, first, kneeling on the bed. He lets himself touch, finally, feeling that it’s not marble, but living and breathing flesh under his hands. The round skin of Silver’s ass, the muscle just below on his thigh, twitching under James’s gaze, interrupted by the ridges of the back of his knee. Silver stifles a moan into Madi’s hip, causing her to gasp sharply, as James traces the lines of his legs, fingers pausing ever so slightly to dig in for a moment until they continue their exploration, hesitant but growing bolder the longer they go like he’s trying to leave remnants of his fingerprints on Silver’s skin. 

 

When he glances up next, Silver’s mouth is on Madi’s cunt, and he can hear the low sounds he’s making as he buries his face in her. Above him, Madi’s neck is stretched out, as her back arches, breasts tilting to the side as she moves, her mouth opening and closing in silent pleasure, her hands buried in his hair like a painting of rapture. 

 

James moves up, as Madi’s eyes open, and she lets go of Silver to tug him closer. “Look at him,” she says, as her eyelids flutter closed, Silver’s head moving up and down below them, “He’s - “ and her breathing changes rapidly, and she seems unable to finish the sentence, shuddering all over as her hand finds James’s forearm, clutches down on his skin so hard he’ll wonder if she’ll leave bruises there. 

 

He sees how Silver brings his hand up to slide his fingers in her, still licking her clit as he curls them deep inside her. James reaches down, puts his hand back in Silver’s hair, sees Silver’s eyes open at the touch, look at him. Blue eyes meet his, as Silver moves his mouth away to kiss at the inside of her thigh once again, dragging his lips up until Madi’s swearing under her breath, grip tightening on him.

 

James’s fingers tug just a little, experimenting, and Silver lets out a full-body, silent shudder, his arms coming up to loop around the back of Madi’s thighs, tugging her closer, looking like he’s greedy for the taste of her, now sucking at her folds. For a moment, James pictures Silver’s mouth around his cock, and it’s the sort of vision that makes his own cock twitch in interest - but not enough to get hard, not so soon after, even though he can see the danger in tasting something in the future without it being known at all. 

 

He releases his grip to run his hand along the back of Silver’s neck, feel him shiver now. He can’t form the words, lest he call him _beautiful_ or something he’s not sure will be well-received, even as that’s exactly what it is - the sight of Silver’s dark eyelashes, his eyebrows, that even in the dim light of the bedroom, he can see every twitch of his face - or perhaps by now, he knows that face, and his mind can fill in all the details. Silver's nose and mouth are pressed up right against Madi’s cunt as she thrusts against his face, now making noises that are slowly gaining volume, him letting her use his face and ride out the impending orgasm. 

 

James tucks a single, curling strand of Silver's hair behind his ear before he can help himself, and Silver’s eyes find his again. Even though his face is mostly hidden between her legs, his eyes look desperate just like how he looked before, when he was jerking him off,  James can’t help but trace just under his eye, high on his cheekbones, wanting to touch but not knowing just what he wants yet again, seeing Silver’s hips work as he tries to get himself off. He thinks about moving down the bed, taking Silver into his mouth, the heavy weight welcome on his tongue, breathing him in - 

 

Silver’s hand finds its way from out beneath Madi’s thigh, and then he’s grabbing at James's leg, pulling him closer. Given the sounds that Madi are making, he’s not about to remove his face, but James gets the picture. He slides right back down on the bed, until Silver’s hand presses against his side, almost like he’s grounding him, only every touch of Silver has always felt like electricity, as James lets out a small gasp. 

 

Above them, Madi starts to shake, and James can see as she starts to come, her eyes flying open to watch Silver. Silver squeezes onto her hips, holding her down to the bed as he sucks even harder, and Madi lets out a loud moan, her fingers digging into the comforter around them, legs tensing up around Silver, as the sounds she makes all come from high in her chest as she comes.  

 

Silver lifts his face, finally, when Madi’s legs stop moving. Then he’s right there, so James kisses him, tastes her in his mouth, feels his mouth slick and hot, hungry to taste both of them. Silver’s tongue swipes along his, and he grants entry to his mouth, a little clumsy still, as he tries to reach down, find Silver’s cock, but his hands feel unwieldy, Silver's skin too damp, and it's mostly his fingers sliding over him, especially as he doesn't pull away to look. 

 

Silver makes some sound when James manages touches him, feel his cock, hot and hard. The angle is awkward, though, and so Silver rolls James over, then, until they’re pressed together, both of their legs mostly off the bed. As Madi pants, looking down at them, Silver rolls his hips down, his cock grinding against the top of James’s thigh, his arms bracketing each side of James’s head, clutching at thin air the faster his hips move.

 

“Please,” James says, as Silver searches his face, his mouth open as he gasps, “Come on, you can, come on - “ 

 

And his words are nearly like what Silver had said to him, but it seems to work, as Silver moans above him, his neck long and stretched out over James’s face as he comes, his fingers digging into the bed on either side of his ears. For a moment, that’s all that James can hear, Silver’s shuddering breaths, the sound of fabric rustling, his own, thudding heart, having risen into his ears, as the expression on his face truly takes his breath away. 

 

Silver rolls off of him after a few moments, his arm going over his eyes. James looks at the line his broad arm makes, and behind him, the space of Madi's leg's visible as she recovers her breath.

 

“Jesus, fuck,” Silver says, finally. 

 

 

•••

 

 


End file.
